


Dusted

by Ditch_Gospel



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Community: 7thnight_smut, Drama, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21952687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ditch_Gospel/pseuds/Ditch_Gospel
Summary: A distant planet suffers the devastating effects of humanity's corruption and greed. Sanzo leads a small group of rebels who decide to do something about it, but with his addiction spiraling out of control, the burden of their personal afflictions threatens to drag them down along the way. Goku/Sanzo
Relationships: Genjo Sanzo/Son Goku
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bakasarugirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bakasarugirl), [illegalitygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illegalitygirl/gifts).



> Originally written for the 7thnight_smut giftfic community back in 2016. It was in dire need of an overhaul so I'll be posting in chunks as I go through and give it a good fix and polish. Was complete at approx. 40,000 words, but the count will be higher as I've been adding as I go.

**Dusted**

**Chapter 1**

Planet Youkai. On this desolate and ravished world, nothing clean remained. Not since humanity had stepped upon it, smearing its once pristine surface with the dirty footprints and fingermarks of unscrupulous corruption and greed.

Hot, wicked wind danced feverishly across the Waste, kicking up the barren sea of sand into dry spindrifts and whirls of harsh and blinding substrate. The coarse grains battered relentlessly against the walls surrounding the remote settlement of Burial. The sky, once a brilliant turquoise-green decorated with three orbiting, jewel-like moons, now remained obscured beneath a perpetual haze. Rising from the centre and four quarters of the enclave, the Watchtowers pointed, like accusatory fingers, at the unseen heavens above.

Traces of ash drifted on the wind, mixing with the dust, the last, sorry remnants of once-thriving cities blasted and burnt into oblivion.

Within and beneath this harsh landscape, beyond the boundaries of the inhabitable world, the people of Burial existed in the shadow of obscurity. Much of the settlement lay safely beneath ground, spreading out beyond the borders of the walled enclave on the surface. Underground, the town’s heavily filtered air and artificial lights protected its residents from the dusty, poisonous air above. This wayward outpost, deliberately tucked away in the depths of the region most severely affected by humanity’s invasion, the toxic waste dump that was the aftermath of war, became an unlikely haven for both human and Youkaian alike. It became a place where trust was a rare commodity and everyone had something to hide. A place to escape. A place of retreat for those who could not breathe easy under cleaner skies.

Outside, on the distant horizon, the lights of the mysterious Shangri-La Tower shone dimly through the haze, its rumoured salvation utterly unreachable for these outcast citizens of the wastelands.

The Youkaians, physically stronger than the humans who oppressed them, held mysterious abilities which seemed to defy all Earthly understanding of science. _Magic_. Yet they struggled to battle against the superior technological innovation of the invaders who sought to exploit the secrets of this power.

The conflict waged on long enough to raise an entire generation that had never known a life of peace. For years, a little over two decades, the struggle for survival and the battle for conquest continued, ripping apart countless lives and destroying forever all that the Youkaians held dear in a long, drawn out process that had started under the guise of cooperation and benevolence and escalated into the full-fledged horror of hostile alien invasion. The people of Burial had given up all hope of a brighter future, or any kind of hope at all.

All hope was lost in the dust, and the dust continued to rise, unsettled, whipped by the soulless winds of death and destruction.

Boots crunched against the grit as a black-clad figure made his way deliberately through the narrow surface streets of Burial. Protective hood and respirator mask concealing his face and his dragon skin cloak and bodysuit nearly impervious to the harsh conditions, he walked unhindered by the elements. Stepping down a side street, he slipped unseen into an alleyway and pressed the buzzer outside a nondescript, reinforced door. Through the violet tint of his mask’s visor, he fixed a steady, challenging gaze directly at the camera watching his approach from behind its grated barrier. He raised gloved hands and flashed a symbol.

A bland, hard voice, crackling with static, broke over the intercom. “Code pass?”

“As the world withers, the coils unwind.” The visitor spoke smoothly, the words like liquid smoke poured over ice. This cool response concealed the personal urgency and impatience of his visit, the restless need itching in his veins, drawing him onward despite the risk.

A moment passed as his authorization went through verification. When the door opened, he stepped inside the antechamber and stood, tense and impatient, as it re-sealed behind him. The outside air that had entered with him was quickly filtered, and then the buzz of the all-clear tone sounded. As soon as the interior door opened allowing entry into the building proper, the music hit him like a near-physical force, the heavy, industrial beat offending his ears. Strobe lights flashed as bodies writhed on the dance floor. The warm air, as if rendered visible with the thick smoke of incense and cigarettes, could be seen steadily sucking towards the filters as they worked tirelessly to keep the room clean. Thankfully, his mask effectively filtered it out, preventing yet another attack on the senses.

As soon as he stepped inside, guards immediately assaulted his personal space, flanking him on three sides. He bristled as they boldly asserted their authority, his every instinct screaming for resistance as he reluctantly submitted to a pat-down search. His eyes flashed with all the defiance he felt but could not allow himself to voice. His gun and cloak he would temporarily relinquish to these men out of sheer necessity, but there were limits to which he would submit, even here.

The guard frisking him, tall and built like a brick, stroked rough hands over his body as if perversion somehow granted that privilege. As dirty fingers took their liberty to grope and squeeze, his limit stretched and snapped. With a fast and wiry grip that hinted at the strength hidden in his slender frame, he caught the perpetrator’s wrist and matched it with a warning as soft and deadly as a sheathed blade. “Watch it.”

Under these circumstances, such a warning may seem like an empty threat or a mere show for the sake of pride, deserving only of contempt and disregard. _His_ warning held genuine danger, even if these men did not yet know it.

The guard's eyes met his through the mask's visor and the man's gaze narrowed. There was something dangerous in those eyes that raised his hackles even further, putting him on high alert.

The eerie vibration of the Maten’s constant presence buzzed beneath his skin, as familiar by now as his own heartbeat. The small spacecraft was far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to draw on its full power, but it was reassuring to know that it was there. If needed, even this limited capacity would be more than enough. His pass code, and its verification, may be his only ‘official’ assurances of safety, but even disarmed and de-cloaked, his protection was self-assured.

The groping guard’s mouth twisted into a foul sneer, and one of the others placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Leave it. You know the rules. Boss wants to see him, so no touchy. He was _very_ clear about that. This one must be something special. Would love to see the face behind the mask.” He cast a quick, dirty smirk at their ‘visitor’ and winked, and then they were ushering him forward with a light shove to the back. Curious party-goers turned to observe their passage, all vacant, intoxicated smiles and drunken eyes.

The guard who had groped him paused suddenly, stalling their progress, and ushered the others aside to exchange a series of hushed and guttural whispers. They glanced at him with a predatory excitement gleaming in their eyes. Then they resumed their progress, once again shoving him forward.

One of the thugs stopped to whisper something to an attendant as they passed. He watched the exchange, body hardwired for action like a slingshot poised to fire at a split second's notice.

Something seemed off. Every nerve in his body told him to abort, to get out now, and yet that option remained the farthest thing from his mind. He had yet to obtain his desired goal, and it necessitated the risk.

As they ascended a narrow staircase, two guards in front and one behind, the music’s volume pumped up just as the beat changed. The deep bass bit into his bones as the whole shell of the building seemed to throb, the metal steps vibrating beneath the soles of his boots.

His skin tingled as an aura of sensory awareness reached out around him like a second skin. There was a sudden spike in this sense shield, an unseen alert of impending danger.

_Now._

He turned, maneuvering sharply in the narrow space, and shoved the man behind him. He did not waste time watching as, unbalanced, his would-be assailant tumbled backwards down the steep stairs, the startled cry of surprise cut short by a crack to the head that brought the tumult to a crumpled finale.

He had already moved to face the other two.

The groper drew the weapon at his hip and was once again held back, this time with harshly uttered words, by his compatriot. “Careful, we need him alive.”

“Shut up,” the groper snapped back. He leered viciously down at their ‘guest’. “Now why’d you have to go an’ do that, hm? Here we were bein’ all friendly-like.” He waved his gun in the direction they had been headed. “Let’s go. Don’t wanna keep the the boss waiting. Just take it one step at a time and no more playin’ around.”

The visitor put one foot forward in a slow, steady step, more like a hunter stalking his prey than a captive held under gunpoint. The guards took a step away from his advance, moving backwards up the stairs, their wary eyes watchful of his every move.

He had already lost interest in this charade. Game over. He knew he would not be getting what he had come here for today, not anymore. His perpetually bitter mood took a darker turn, acidified by the unfulfilled cravings that drove him to this path of corruption and vice.

“After you,” he said, his mask hiding his dry disappointment.

Their progress had been rendered slow, step by cautious step. When the remaining guards at last reached the top step, the groper’s eyes flickered wildly, the gun wavering in his uncertain hand. A small bead of sweat traced a line down the side of a crooked nose.

The visitor paused, his eyes narrowed expectantly.

The guard made up his mind, jerking the gun towards his comrade.

The short, sharp discharge of the bullet and the immediately fatal bone-piercing impact followed a second later. _  
_

The unsuspecting man dropped to the floor with a bullet through the skull, blank surprise frozen on his lifeless face.

The last guard standing turned both his gun and a triumphant grin towards his prisoner. “H-Haha! Now it’s just you an’ me.” His lips stretched even wider over crooked teeth. “Yep, I know who you are. I think you guessed that already. But you’re not so tough without the Maten and your freaky friends, are ya? You didn’t think someone would recognize you eventually? Maybe you don’t remember me. I was just a lowly crewman, beneath your notice, right? But I was _there_ when you turned on us at Nagnahc. Even through the visor, I recognized you. The eyes, your voice. Guess you made a bit of an impression." He grinned again, the expression like a promise of cruel brutality, and waggled the end of his gun with his finger still poised on the trigger. "I was serving on the Tengoku 3. And you… You’re Genjo Sanzo, captain of the Maten.”

Sanzo would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t already so done with this. “So? What’s it to you?”

“So?! You betrayed your own people,” the guard spat out, apparently oblivious to the hypocrisy of his words as his compatriot lay wasted by his own hand at his feet. “Stole the freakin’ Maten. Hell, your own father died that day ‘cause of what you did. I had buddies who were killed, shipmates. More importantly, _I_ almost died.”

So the man was a deserter, just like many others here in Burial. Sanzo would not begrudge anyone for making that choice. The more the merrier. But this man…

The guard scrunched up his face. “So this dump is where you ended up, huh? Ha. Some rebel hero, disappearing into fuckin’ obscurity like a coward. I’ll make a pretty penny from turning you over to HEAVEN’s command. You’re a wanted man, _Captain_. And I’m the one whose gonna bring you in. I'll just make sure I have some fun with you first.” He sneered with a vicious carnality.

This man had chosen a path that would lead him nowhere but down. Sanzo’s eyes were hard, disgust and contempt dripping from his tongue in a languid threat, like heavy, molten lava. “Hn. You think just because you can’t see the ship, that it isn’t here?”

“Huh?” Blank confusion momentarily wiped the smirk off the guard’s face.

Sanzo twisted his palms forward. Violet eyes flared with an inner light, the colour becoming luminous, alien bright. The air seemed to ripple around him and then a light burst forth from his hands, releasing pure focused heat.

His assailant disintegrated into nothing but a pile of ash.

Alone, Sanzo continued up the stairs. At the top, he bent to retrieve his confiscated gun and cloak from the remaining corpse, frowning at the traces of blood spattered on the garment. He slipped on the cloak, pulled a cigarette pack and lighter from a pocket and took a moment to extract and light up a stick. He took a good, long drag, held the smoke for a satisfying moment, and then slowly exhaled.

The smoke served as a poor and sorry substitute and did nothing to soften the edge of a much more powerful craving, a physical need that had begun to verge on desperation. His hand shook slightly as he held the cigarette. His head pounded. He’d held off for too long, and now the need intensified into a driving force.

He could not ignore this craving anymore than he could ignore the Maten's influence on his body, the only difference being that the craving remained self-inflicted.

It _hurt,_ this power within him. The power of the Maten, of any of HEAVEN’s five Kaigen ships, was not something that a human body was meant to contain. The result of an experiment using stolen Youkai power and forbidden techniques, his bond with the ship was not a burden that he had chosen for to take upon himself.

HEAVEN. _Human Enrichment and Advancement Via Extraterrestrial Naturalization_. What a joke. It was nothing but a sick ruse, a feel-good front to appease the gullible populace back on Earth. He had once been one of them, a child none the wiser to the reality of what was really happening millions of miles away across the dark expanse of space. Even his own father, one of HEAVEN’s top scientists and captain of the Seiten, had withheld from him the full extent of the truth. At least, until the Maten had unexpectedly chosen him, of all people, and forced him into the fray.

Sanzo swallowed back a wave of nausea and flicked the cigarette down onto the ashes at his feet. Stepping over the remains, he continued down the hall.

Corruption and vice. His underhanded dealings here involved an undeniable exploitation of his authority, as he used his own position of leadership and security clearances here in Burial to guarantee a certain degree of impunity in exchange for the goods, but Sanzo figured he deserved a little something in compensation for all the shit he’d had to go through and continued to endure on a daily basis.

There were two more sentries posted at the door to the inner lair. The last shred of his patience already worn ragged, Sanzo wasted no time in quickly taking them out with another blast of power. They barely had time to register the danger before death released them of their worldly concerns.

One of these men had been Youkaian, which made for a perfectly clean kill. The people of planet Youkai had bodies that mysteriously and conveniently disappeared after death. It could be hauntingly beautiful, when the deceased dispersed into a sparkling gold dust and simply dissipated like flecks of angelic light. It also made it impossible to verify the death of an individual if the death was not witnessed directly. For the loved ones left behind, uncertainty and lack of closure were the heart-wrenching consequence of this mysterious phenomenon. Sanzo could only regret that he had been unfortunate enough to experience this result firsthand.

But regret was futile. Hope was false. He had no use for that which only served to prolong the pain with a useless longing for some faint, distant, ‘what-if’ scenario. He had instead allowed the grief of loss to hollow out his heart in one fell swoop, all consequences to his sanity be damned. This bleak reality had become his daily existence, such as it may be.

Sanzo stood by the door, contemplating simply blasting his way through, but sometimes the subtle approach remained the best choice. No need to make this any messier than necessary. He laid his hand on the door and used a short burst of power to short-circuit the lock, and stepped grimly inside, gun at the ready. It wouldn’t do to rely on the Maten entirely when he had the capability of handling things on his own. The damn ship was already insufferable without letting it think that it had made some sort of progress in winning him over, as if that day would ever come.

Inside, the headman had been waiting for him, his back turned as he casually sipped his tea, secure in his position and apparently having greater trust in his flunkies than Sanzo would have ever have dared were their positions reversed. “Ah, my favourite visitor has arrived. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you once again, my friend.”

“Skip the formalities. It’s my final visit, and I won’t be staying long.” Sanzo paused. “Neither will you.” There was no malice in his tone, no pleasure taken in this violence that led to bliss, but neither was there pity or remorse for a man who would use another’s weakness and vice for his own personal gain.

The man turned, and his genteel smile hardened and melted on his face when he saw that Sanzo stood alone, stained in blood, and was pointing a gun directly at him.

If Sanzo had any space left at all for pity here, it was only for the fact that he was about to lose what had been a steady and reliable source of what he needed the most and could unfortunately only obtain through such questionable means. He swallowed his disgust, at both himself and his circumstances. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance. And your men should’ve kept their goddamned feelers to themselves.”

“I’m terribly sorry, _Captain_ _Sanzo_ , that it had to end this way. It’s so very difficult to find good help these days.”

“You’re telling me,” Sanzo muttered in agreement, before wasting a perfectly good bullet with one clean shot. At least the man had the decency to go down with a bit of dignity and spare him another pointless battle.

“Shit.” Sanzo tucked his gun away and touched the concealed communication device at his collar. Even short-range communications were unreliable at the best of times, and he tapped it again in frustration until he established a connection. “I need a clean sweep of Surface Sector Six." He paused, a wry, sick, mirthless humor twisting like bile at the back of his throat. "Drug bust.”

He approached the desk, ignoring the corpse now sitting slumped in the chair. Without looking at its lifeless face, he extracted the key that he knew would be nestled inside its breast pocket. Next, he touched the small case resting on the desktop, his pulse racing in anticipation. He inserted the key into the lock. The ‘click’ of the lock disengaging was one of the most satisfying sounds he had ever heard. He opened the lid, revealing neatly packed bundles of a fine white powder inside. _Dust_. He sucked in a shaky breath and wet his lip, eyeing the precious goods. He quickly scooped up two bundles, tucking them into his coat. Inside the case was also a smaller box containing pre-loaded needles, and he hesitated. He wasn’t in the habit of using needles, at least not yet. If he had any restraint left at all, he knew he should leave it at that, but the temptation born of addiction was a wily worm, and it could eat through hesitation as if it were an apple gone soft and sour with rot.

Sanzo dumped out the needles, put three of them back in the small box and then stuffed it in his coat along with the rest of his loot.

After all, it would be a waste to leave empty handed after all the trouble he’d just gone through to get here. He’d consider it compensation for the bullet spent and time lost.

*******

By the time Sanzo’s forces had swarmed the dead drug lord's lair and completed the clean up, the raid had successfully stormed the hideout, routed out any remaining underlings, and dismantled the drug lab within. For selfish reasons, Sanzo would have preferred to continue to merely sweep its existence under the rug rather than sweep it clean away. In addition, and worth worrying about, there was no guarantee that the discovery of his identity had not spread beyond those few who no longer lived. If so, things could quickly go from bad to worse, but that was the risk he had willingly taken.

For now, day fell into night as the gloomy darkness spread quickly across the surface of the Waste and drove Burial’s residents down into their dwellings like insects scurrying from the light.

Sanzo likewise descended to his own underground lair, the illicit goods tucked into his coat his only hope for a somewhat less than one hundred percent shitty evening. As the only ‘home’ that he had to come back to, this high security compound at the centre of Burial’s underground complex greeted him with minimal comfort but was at least reasonably secure. The sentry guards, enclosed in their armored biohazard suits but with their masks dangling free in the safely filtered air, greeted him with crisp salutes as they let him pass unhindered.

Sanzo’s sharp eyes met theirs, penetrating, assessing, always suspicious -- even of his own men. Even these men, perhaps especially of these men, these few who knew his identity and had been with him from the very start of the rebellion. He nodded in sparse acknowledgement and passed them by, approaching the door and quickly punching in the security code. Inside, the door slid shut behind him. He’d already been through the communal surface-to-underground air filtration chamber that was used in the daily flow of life in Burial, but here, at the brink of this inner sanctum, there was one more precaution to take. He stood still and closed his eyes as the decontamination chamber hummed into life, enduring the slight, disconcerting warmth that penetrated his skin as the beam passed over him, scanning him for signs of the virus that had begun to spread on the surface. Only after this procedure completed did he proceed into the main complex and walk down the pristine halls within.

Inside, the smell of disinfectant and processed air filled his lungs. His medical officer had exceptionally high standards when it came to the routines of housekeeping, hygiene, and biosecurity. Thus, only here, in this inner space obsessively maintained by a pardoned criminal with perpetually stained hands, did any sense of cleanliness or comfort remain.

He may have welcomed a convict as a member of his personal crew, but Sanzo himself was nothing but a criminal to his own people, an outlaw in hiding. Yet, most Youkaians considered him a hero, a savior who stood up against HEAVEN’s forces, protected the holy lands and saved them from a certain defeat. He had followers scattered across the planet, those who waited for his word to rise up and fight, believing that he was the one who would take back Youkai from human hands.

It was all ridiculous. He had never planned or anticipated for any of this to happen. Before his involvement, he had been nothing but a young scholar with no grand, noble ambitions of rebellion nor any idea that such a role desperately waited to be filled. Influenced by his father's position in the top echelon of HEAVEN’s command and drawn by the wedge of secrecy that this role had driven between them as father and son, he had chosen to study the concept of Youkaian magic and its influence on the planet’s people and culture. The difficulty inherent in this choice of subject to study, with much of the knowledge classified and himself, a civilian, forbidden to travel to Youkai itself, had been more of a challenge than a deterrent. Determined and resourceful, he searched in secret for leads, clues, stray scraps of information, anything at all that would help tie the pieces together. Gradually, he began to see that all was _not_ as HEAVEN would have the people believe.

There had been another influence in his life, another source of tantalizing knowledge, and that had been through a golden-eyed Youkaian boy, Goku. As far as he knew, Goku was the only Youkaian to ever step foot on Earth. An outcast among his own people, Goku himself was another enigma, and his own knowledge of his heritage was fraught with gaping holes. Their unlikely friendship, forged in secrecy in the laboratories and under Captain Koumyou’s strictly watchful eye, had served to fill another kind of hole in an often solitary existence.

All that had changed when the Maten had chosen him, and his life as a ship’s captain, a soldier, one of the leaders of an invasion fleet, had begun, shoving him headfirst into the secrets which he had so longed to discover. He had not liked what he found.

Even so, heroism had never been Sanzo’s intent. The misguided adoration of the Youkaians left him cold and the constant bullshit everywhere he went wearied him to the bones and beyond. Even here in the middle of this nowhere-land in the Wastes, the burden followed him. His life now basically existed in a form of self-exile. He knew that even with a price on his head, few would choose to mess with him lightly, not when he commanded one of the five Kaigen ships. If anyone did come for him, they'd find him ready to fight and he would resist until the end, however unwillingly.

As Sanzo made his way through the perpetual hum of the air filters and the glow of the artificial lights, a drawn-out tone sounded throughout Burial, low and familiar, signalling the nightly warning that the lights were about to shift to energy saving sleep mode, and a short time later, they dimmed. Light panels all long the walls and ceiling of the corridors took the place of full illumination, lighting the way with a soft, green luminescence. He continued until he reached a circular lobby at the centre of the complex. Only now, in the privacy of this place, did Sanzo fully remove the mask that contained his breathing apparatus and kept his face hidden, the straps catching on blond hair as he pulled it over his head.

As always, Hakkai, his medical officer, had been quietly awaiting his return.

The dark-haired man’s lab coat looked ghostly pale in the dim lighting. He sat at a computer console in the middle of the lobby, white-gloved fingers tapping away rapidly at a keypad. He stopped his work as soon as Sanzo entered, turning in his swivel chair. His artificial right eye glowed an eerie, ghostly green, much like the light panels around them. “Welcome back, Sanzo,” he said, a faint and slightly unsettling metallic tone audible in a voice that was otherwise pleasant and well-mannered, blending seamlessly with the darkened room and soft, unnatural lights. Upon first impression, anyone unfamiliar with the man and his penchant for body modification would be excused for mistaking him for an android from the realms of science fiction. Science fact had not yet meandered down that particular path. “You’ve been out quite a while.”

Sanzo didn’t bother to respond, silently peeling off his gloves as he tried to move pass Hakkai’s station without drawing too much attention. However, his opportunity to escape without notice had dissipated before it even arrived. He never had a chance to hide anything from Hakkai, and he knew it all too well.

Hakkai’s formerly polite but meaningless smile tightened, just a little, just enough. “More ‘unofficial’ business? I really wish you wouldn’t.”

Sanzo spared him a sideways glance. “Then you’ll be happy to hear that I lost my business partner today. Couldn’t be helped.” His heart pounded in his chest, his skin flushed as he focused on speaking clearly when all his body wanted to do was breathe through the increasing nausea. “One of his henchmen recognized me from Nagnahc.” He shoved his gloves in his pocket, regretting that he could not conceal his physical symptoms of withdrawal as easily. He took another step forward and stumbled as his calf muscle suddenly cramped into a tight knot, and he caught himself with a hand against the wall. He swallowed a curse. He now had Hakkai’s full attention zeroed in on him like a hawk detecting its weakened prey.

Hakkai pushed back his chair, the wheels rolling easily along the polished floor, and Sanzo turned away, but not quite fast enough. Hakkai’s keen eye had already spotted the blood spatters on his coat, and the obvious tremors in his hands.

Hakkai’s sigh of disapproval was small but very much meant to be heard. “Sanzo, please come with me.”

“N-not now, Hakkai.”

“Yes, _now_ will suffice. I’m afraid I really must insist.” Hakkai stood.

Sanzo had learned from firsthand experience that complying with any of Hakkai’s insistent “requests” usually meant a far smoother outcome and an easier path to follow than resistance. Refusing now would mean dealing with an unhealthy dose of passive-aggressive disapproval that could last for days and involved more trouble than it was worth. Cooperation, however uncomfortable or tedious, tended to get any unwelcome issues over with sooner rather than later.

“Fine,” Sanzo said. He briefly pressed a protective hand longingly over his concealed loot, and proceeded to the medical chamber without waiting for Hakkai to fall into step. When they entered the small, private clinic and laboratory where Hakkai performed his work and tended to their little band of not-so-merry men, the lights responded to their arrival by restoring full power to this one area.

“Please undress and have a seat,” Hakkai said, indicating a simple medical cot at the side of the room as he switched on a surgical lamp and adjusted its tilt, the bright light further illuminating his workspace. “Are you injured?”

“No," Sanzo answered tersely, wincing under the glare of the light. "The blood isn’t mine.” Sanzo removed his cloak, being sure to keep his stash concealed, and began to unzip and peel off the protective bodysuit beneath, stripping to the waist. The air against his skin offered only small relief from the heat pervading his body from within.

“Well, that’s something, at least,” Hakkai said quietly and with a touch of sarcasm, but not without a softening hint of genuine relief as he moved about the room gathering the necessary supplies.

Sanzo moistened dry lips as he waited, impatient, restless, and distracted.

Hakkai’s meticulous movements would not be hurried, as if he were deliberately making Sanzo sit through his discomfort. “Still no sign of Jikaku and the others,” Hakkai said as he worked, both a question and a statement of fact.

“No,” Sanzo answered, his concern sharpening his tongue.

“What are you going to do?” Hakkai removed his white gloves and replaced them instead with a pair of the disposable medical variety, revealing one elegant, natural human hand and the other hand medically altered with experimental injections of Youkaian genetic material.

“Keep waiting. What else? I sh-should have refused to let him leave. Too lenient with the old man. L-Left me to look after this shit hole. When he gets back, he’s getting a major piece of my mind. Who the hell does he think he is? I told him we’re not crusaders for justice.” He gripped the edge of the cot upon which he sat, bit his lip and breathed out slowly as another cramp seized his muscles with a vice-like intensity, his brow gone damp and clammy.

“And the signal?”

“Has to be nothing. Yet he insisted on traipsing out there to intercept the source. It could be a trap, for all we know, trying to d-draw me out.”

“Then do you intend to hide away here forever?” Hakkai inserted two needles into separate vials, drawing up a dose of each drug into the syringes.

“I’m not hiding,” Sanzo said, his eyes fixed on the vials.

“Aren’t you?” Hakkai tapped the side of one syringe with a flick of his finger, ejecting the air. The tips of the talons on the fingers of his modified arm were just visible, poking with a dangerous delicacy against the pristine white of his glove.

“And what about you?" Sanzo asked. "If you want to leave this hellhole of a town, if you have things to do, I’m not stopping you. You’re free to go.”

A small smile flickered briefly over Hakkai’s lips as he worked. “It is as you said. I may have helped to liberate Nagnahc, but I am no hero. Perhaps this ‘hellhole’ is where I belong.”

“Who told you that? Stop listening to your own sh-shadow. It doesn’t know shit.” He was used to Hakkai’s self depreciation and he was, quite frankly, sick of it. Then again, there wasn’t anything left that he hadn’t already grown sick of.

Hakkai just kept smiling that empty smile as he recapped the second needle. “In any case, I’m sure they’ll be back soon. If the signal really was nothing...”

“They’d better be. I’ll kick Jikaku’s wrinkled ass as s-soon as he decides to drag himself back here.” Relief was minutes away, as soon as he could get his ass out of Hakkai’s line of sight and smuggle his stash to the privacy of his room. He only had to sit through Hakkai’s concern for a little bit longer.

Hakkai placed his fingertips lightly on Sanzo’s arm, watching in fascination as the strange patterns of light seemed to glow beneath the skin as they shifted and flickered in response to his touch. “What does it feel like?” He asked, his interest touched with an envy that he did not try to hide. No matter how much Hakkai altered his own body, he could never change the fact that he was human within.

Sanzo frowned and drew his arm away. He had no wish to indulge Hakkai with his futile fantasies, nor to be an object of some sort of misguided admiration. “Hurts like a bitch. Bad enough normally, but when we’re this far apart…”

“I see,” Hakkai murmured, his eye straying to the old scars from back when Sanzo had once tried, in the early days, and of course unsuccessfully, to extract the presence of the Maten’s power from his own body by force. “I do worry that one of these days you’re going to come back here in pieces. You take too many risks, Sanzo. Your addiction makes you reckless.”

Sanzo tensed and shot Hakkai a warning look. He did not like his ‘issues’ dredged out into the open. His problems were no one’s business but his own.

Hakkai met his eye. “I speak as your doctor, but also as your friend.”

Sanzo tried to shake his head in some sort of dismissal, but it hurt too much to bother. He couldn’t sit here like this much longer. Not when relief was so close, hidden just metres away. He looked over longingly at his cloak and clenched his fingers to still his impatience.

“When was your last dose?” Hakkai asked, lifting Sanzo's arm and pressing his fingers against the wrist to count the beat of his racing pulse.

Sanzo shrugged. “Maybe two days ago.” His entire body ached.

Hakkai made a small sound of disapproval under his breath. “The withdrawal symptoms will only get worse from this point on. It’s very dangerous to stop abruptly. Of course I advocate for you to quit, but it must be done under strict medical supervision. If you won't agree to that, then at least inform me if you’re ever unable to obtain a supply.”

“I’m f-fine.”

“You are far from ‘fine’ Sanzo. How much do you think your body can handle? What you’re doing is nothing but reckless self-endangerment.” Hakkai swabbed Sanzo’s arm with disinfectant.

“I don’t need to hear that lecture from you, of all people. I’m not the only one here who indulges in a little reckless s-self-endangerment, am I? Considering what you’ve done to your own body. Keep it up and you'll make a monster of yourself, if you survive.” The wet swabs felt refreshingly cool against his skin, the sharp smell of the disinfectant oddly pleasant.

“Well, that is the point of my experiment, after all. Besides, my physical augmentations have been of nothing but benefit to me. Here, now, hold still. I'm going to place an IV catheter and start you on some fluids and medications overnight.”

Sanzo tensed, a stab of anxiety jacking his pulse up even higher. He needed to get away. "I'm not staying here all fucking night." He started to stand, pushing away from the cot.

Hakkai placed a staying hand on his arm, his touch gentle but firm. "Sanzo. Please don't fight with me. You are dehydrated and your body needs a good rest. I'll give you something for the pain, and a sedative. You won't feel anything until morning." The stern, no-nonsense look in his remaining organic eye seemed to pin Sanzo down with far more force than his light touch.

Sanzo held his steady gaze for a moment in a silent challenge as he struggled to override his initial compulsion. Another wave of nausea and pain helped make up his mind and he let his body ease back down into a sitting position.

Hakkai positioned the catheter needle and jabbed it into Sanzo’s skin, surely much harder than necessary, piercing the vein within. "I do my best not to question your choices, Sanzo, within reason, but I must say I am relieved that it appears you haven't been injecting," Hakkai remarked quietly as he taped the catheter in place and prepared a bag of fluids, attaching the line. Sanzo chose not to comment. He could not offer any promises or reassurances of what he may or may not do.

Hakkai injected the contents of the first needle into the IV line, and as he depressed the plunger on the syringe and followed it up with a flush, they both watched as the amber coloured liquid disappeared into Sanzo's body.

The drug was nice, a potent narcotic with a heavy sedating effect in higher doses, but not anywhere near as good as dust. Although there were times when Sanzo had raided Hakkai’s medical drug supplies in a pinch, that being just one of the reasons why he had failed to keep his addiction a secret. Hakkai had an eye for detail and kept very close tabs on both his supplies as well as the well being of those under his care. The discovery had been inevitable, but it still pissed Sanzo off. It was true what Hakkai said. He had become reckless, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

A moment after administration, Sanzo could already feel the analgesic beginning to kick in, the whole-body pain gradually numbing around the edges as the drug spread out like a blessedly welcome blanket of relief. His eye-lids already felt heavy, his body succumbing to the sleep-inducing effects much quicker than he had been expecting. Almost reflexively, a result of constantly living on the edge of danger, he resisted the sweet pull towards temporary oblivion until his body finally gave up the effort and began to allow itself to sink into the lull.

"Lie down, please," Hakkai directed. "Do you have any supply left at all? Enough for one dose?” He checked Sanzo's pulse again.

Sanzo forced himself to nod as he stretched out on the cot. Hakkai's voice seemed distant, the meaning of the words difficult to grasp as his head swam further towards unconsciousness.

"Good." Hakkai injected the second needle. “And this should help ease the withdrawal symptoms temporarily. Sleep now. When you awaken, you'll need to, hm, _indulge_ soon, otherwise withdrawal will kick in again, and it will not be pretty. There is a very real and significant risk to your health with your--"

Whatever else Hakkai said floated away and vanished like bubbles as the heavy numbness of the narcotics in his system finally took complete control, knocking him into the welcome approach of a deep, painless, dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dusted**  
  
**Chapter 2**

  
  
In that briefest of moments before full consciousness kicked in, Sanzo became aware of his breath, but blissfully little else. Then life in all of its totality came rushing back like a crashing tsunami of relentless black tar that would drag him with it on its path of destruction. Wakefulness. The end of sleep. It meant that the perfect peace of oblivion had shattered into a million jagged pieces like broken glass, and the sharp edges would be dragged along with him for the ride. Another day, another waking hell.

Sanzo opened his eyes to a darkened room. He lay on the medical cot as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. There was a chair pulled up alongside the cot, evidence that Hakkai had spent time watching over him as he slept, giving up his own rest. Sanzo felt a knot of guilt and shame twisting and rising in his chest and he willfully pushed it back down to ferment in the hollows of his gut. Groggy and slightly disoriented, he sat up slowly. Sanzo trusted that Hakkai’s touch would never be anything other than clinical, and so it came as no big deal to discover that he had been stripped for comfort and tucked down under a warm blanket. His boots and garb were waiting on a small stand next to the bed, clean and neatly folded, along with a standard issue medical gown. His stomach lurched with nausea as he sat up, reminding him in no uncertain terms that the temporary remedy had worn off.

Sanzo groaned as he threw off the cover, swung his legs of the edge of the cot and stood, his mind on one thing and one thing only. Standing naked and barefoot on the cool floor, he ripped the tape off his arm and pulled out the IV catheter, ignoring the trickle of dark, venous blood that flowed down his arm from the small puncture wound. He quickly pulled the gown over his head, deciding it would be the faster option rather than taking the time to shimmy into the skin tight bodysuit.

He paused as he reached for his cloak, noting with some trepidation that it had been cleaned of the bloodstains and folded into a neat bundle. He anxiously shook out the bundle and was relieved to find that his secret stash had not been disturbed, although he was somewhat mortified by the realization that it had probably been discovered. He snatched up the cloak along with its hidden contents as if it were a lifeline, slipping the cloak over his shoulders. Nearly forgetting to grab his boots, he left the clinic and padded down the empty corridor until he could finally disappear into the safety and privacy of his own personal quarters.

At last, with his door closed behind him, he withdrew his treasures. The small case of needles he tossed into a drawer for later contemplation. The precious bags he laid out on his desk. Still wearing the medical gown, he settled himself into the chair in preparation for a good, overdue session. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the allure of the white substance within. He parted his lips, every breath ending in a heavy exhalation of shaky breath. As he carefully opened one of the bags with trembling fingers and extracted his fix, the satisfaction and anticipation of finally reaching this moment eclipsed everything else until it felt like he was perched on a laser-point pinnacle of excitement. He could have the whole world at his feet, but his eyes saw only the fine powder directly in front of him. Right now, nothing else mattered.

He arranged his lines generously and wasted no more time before leaning over, inserting the straw up one nostril and sucking the raw drug straight up into his nasal passages. This was the good stuff -- high grade dust. It hit with a bang, like a surprise party right in his head, his sensitive mucous membranes tingling and then going numb as the potent rush was quickly absorbed into his bloodstream.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” he moaned as the drug washed over and through him, as if kissing every cell in his body with a blindingly orgasmic punch of pure pleasure. His chair scraped against the floor as he leaned back, digging his nails into his bare thighs. That little bite of pain only added to the zip in his veins and the buzz curled his lip and washed out his weary soul like nothing else ever had.

He closed his eyes and swallowed as the excess powder slid down the back of his throat, the sharp chemical taste thick with mucus and tinged with blood. Technically, he reminded himself, this morning’s hit was on his doctor’s order, so he could take that as permission to get fucked all the way up to heaven and back. Silent mirth tightened his chest and throat, and then he sucked back the dredges, gasping as sparks flashed behind his eyes. The patterns of responsive luminescence beneath his skin, marks of the Maten’s power, swirled and zipped like an entire galaxy of auroras gone mad. He opened his eyes wide, glazed with ecstasy and glowing with a dangerous, uncanny light. With his gaze fixed on nothing in particular and feeling like his soul had just ascended to another dimension, he tipped back his head and silently laughed.

To hell with anything else. _This_ had been worth the wait.

Like so many other things running havoc all over planet Youkai, the addictive drug know as dust had its origins in HEAVEN’s laboratories back on Earth. Designed with Youkaian physiology in mind, its effects on the human body were still uncertain and unstudied. Despite the risks, there was only one, impossible thing that Sanzo would trade this for now. A memory of golden eyes and laughter, warm and bright, expanded into a sparkling fountain of shining, euphoric light that blinded him to everything else.

But Goku was dead and gone, lost in the battle at Nagnahc. He was never coming back. Only the memory remained, burnt forever into his heart and impossible to erase, even now.

***

When Sanzo emerged from his room, with the black holes of his pupils threatening to swallow up all but a narrow edge of the stormy violet of his eyes, he felt like he’d gone through some kind of miraculous rebirth. The pain was gone, and his head was sharp and clear. The world felt just that little bit less screwed up, and it was a beautiful thing. The lingering traces of euphoria curled through his body from head to toe, buzzing in his head like warm wine. An electric energy, like a zipline of adrenaline, lent him a kind of strength that was difficult to resist.

He could deal with the negatives: the restlessness, the nervousness, the touch of paranoia that came along with everything else. He even thought that the Maten’s power, however much he might resent it, was kind of…not nice, exactly. Definitely not pleasant. But it made him feel more alive. It satisfied him to think that perhaps the drug was screwing with the ship as much as it was with his own body and brain. That was the consequences of a symbiotic relationship. In his opinion - which was the only opinion that counted where that particular ship was concerned - it served the damn thing right. Let it suffer in solitude and realize that choosing him as its captain had been nothing but a foolish mistake.

Meanwhile, Sanzo had a town to run, such as it was. He’d assured old man Jikaku that he’d watch over Burial in his absence, and that’s what he intended to do. At least it gave him something to focus on, something to take his mind off other things.

The reality of the situation was that the Nagnahc rebels had been extremely lucky to have an ally like Jikaku in a place like this. As an early defector, Jikaku had been ranked highly in HEAVEN’s chain of command. He had managed to set himself up as the head of what had been an abandoned research centre, and under his authority, the place had grown into what it was today – Burial. Not only that, he had also been a close friend of Koumyou. As such, he had welcomed Sanzo and his crew with open arms. Now those generously open arms were out there, somewhere, searching for the source of ghostly signals out in the danger-ridden Waste.

Tempestuous weather approached on the horizon, leaving little time for warning, and this was no typical storm. This was a Youkaian post-war weather event, and any storm that Sanzo had experienced back on Earth would have been a pale whimper in comparison. Burial had been placed on lock-down, the surface streets sealed off and all residents ordered to take shelter down below as they waited to ride out the storm.

Sudden, violent, and exceedingly dangerous, the storms on planet Youkai had only become worse in recent times. No good scientific explanation for this phenomenon could be found. Ever since the war, the natural order of the world had fell into turmoil. Most blamed human interference. This theory likely contained the truth, and Sanzo had no qualms about piling yet another atrocity upon the collective crimes of his sorry excuse for a sentient species.

Sanzo stood in the Central Watchtower, peering through binocular lenses into the distance, watching for signs of Jikaku’s return as he observed the unrelenting force of the approaching storm. The dark beast of the dust cloud generated by the storm had already obliterated the horizon, completely obscuring the far-off lights of Shangri-La Tower. If Jikaku had been caught in the jaws of that beast, even his hovercraft would provide scant protection. With his mouth set in a grim line, his jaw tight as his teeth ground together until they ached, Sanzo watched. But nothing emerged from the cloud of dust, and there was nothing he could do about it one way or another. Communication signals had been so bad lately that they hadn’t heard a peep from the old man since the day he had headed out. There was no telling exactly where he was now, or even if he was still alive.

The watchtower’s intercom crackled, went dead, and then crackled again. The voice of Sha Gojyo, one of the most trusted members of Sanzo's inner circle, came through, his usual good-humoured drawl shot with urgent tension. “Sanzo. Recommend you get your ass down here, _now_. That storm ain’t gonna wait-- _cracklecrackle_ \--up there if those windows--”

The intercom went dead again and Sanzo let the warning hang in the air. He had a little bit of time. He squinted into the lenses, pulse quickening. A small speck on the horizon, heading in this direction. Fast. Sand beast? No. A vehicle. Hovercraft. Speeding as it attempted to outrun the storm. Silently, Sanzo urged it on. As he watched, the sickening realization sunk in and stuck like knives to his gut.

“They’re not going to make it.”

All he could do was stand there and watch, helpless to assist, as the storm eventually overtook the craft, swallowed it up within its mass of swirling wind, acidic rain, flying debris and sand as sharp as glass. The already perpetually gloomy sky became as dark as pitch as the horizon vanished, completely consumed by the storm.

As the still air outside began to kick up into an uncomfortably warm wind and the first grains of sand began to scatter against the thick, heavily reinforced windows, he tossed the binoculars onto the counter and turned for the exit elevator. He pressed the control button repeatedly as he was forced to wait for the lift’s arrival, was just about to make a dash for the emergency stairs instead when it finally showed up. He repeated the process of madly punching buttons after he was able to board, pacing like a caged animal in the small space as it lurched and descended. He could not exit fast enough. As soon as the door opened to allow him access to the underground level, he was out like a shot, the reinforced doors sliding shut behind him. There was a hiss as the decontamination chamber began to filter the air in which he stood, a necessary though time-consuming safety feature of life in a toxic landscape, and finally the door on the other side of the chamber opened. He took off at a dead run down the corridor.

They would make it. They bloody-well had to. He would _not_ lose anyone else.

He skidded to a halt in front of the vehicle bay, cursing up his own personal storm as he was again forced to pass through the airlock security system and finally proceeded beyond to the control room, where he could push the lever to raise the gate to the outside. A gust of wind, dust, and acidic rain tore into the space, and along with it, the hovercraft hurtled pell-mell inside with a fiendish scrape of metal on metal as it was pushed forward more by the wind than by its own power.

A relieved breath crashed into his lungs as soon as the vehicle was safe inside, only to be dashed out again by new horror the very next instant. The windshield had been blown out of the craft. Sanzo closed the gate, grabbed the mask from where it hung around his neck, and hastily pulled it over his face even as he ran. Before the dust had fully settled and without taking the time to start the air filtration process in the vehicle bay, he was on his way.

“Jikaku!” he screamed, his voice distorted by the mask. _No. No._ His mind screamed even louder. He practically threw himself at the vehicle, but stopped short when he saw the obviously lifeless eyes of the driver. The man was slumped in the seat, dead, with a piece of the windshield jutting into his eye and his face blasted to the bone by the storm. Next to the body, in the passenger seat, someone stretched out thin, bloody fingers, and Sanzo wasted no time in pulling his old friend and mentor’s prone body through the smashed window.

He had Jikaku. _Alive_.

He knelt at his side, gripping his shoulders as he held him upright, the off-white of the old man’s cloak beneath his fingers wind-whipped and stained with blood. Sanzo looked at what was left of Jikaku’s face, and what he saw there gutted him. Raw, swollen eyes looked at him as though unseeing. The thin skin of the elderly man’s face had been pelted with sand and toxic air, leaving it blistered, oozing blood, his mask ripped away by the force of the gale and his skin abraded. Red ooze leaked from his mouth, his mucus membranes and respiratory passages corroded and damaged beyond repair. From his throat escaped a barely audible rasp. Blood spewed when he spoke and he coughed, droplets spattering against Sanzo’s mask and face.

“We lost the signal… had to… turn back to outrun the storm.”

Sanzo’s mask, so hastily donned and not properly fastened, began to slip, and he carelessly ripped it off. Ignoring the burn in his own lungs as outside air still swirled within the vehicle bay, he grasped Jikaku’s collar, clinging to him as if he could somehow keep him in this life, however desolate an existence it may have become. “You made it. You made it back.”

Jikaku reached for him, grasped his wrist in a grip that was surprisingly strong and sure.

“I suppose I look…just as bad as I feel?” He coughed again, more blood spilling past his damaged lips.

“Don’t talk, old man. Help is on the way.”

“We couldn’t find it. The source of the signal. Whoever it is, they’re still out there… somewhere.”

Sanzo shook his head. He wanted to deny that there had been anything out there worth searching for, and at the same time, he wanted to refuse the notion that Jikaku’s sacrifice had been for nothing. But the two sentiments clashed together and battled, twisting his face with a rage that had no clear path to take and could only turn upon itself with a bitter self-hatred.

“I would have liked--” Started Jikaku, wracked by another cough rendered nearly soundless with lack of breath as he struggled to complete the sentence. “--to see the sky…one last time. Feel the warmth of the sun.” He tried to smile, and his thin lips, bloodied and raw, twisted and cracked into a tortured grimace. Even that terrible pain could not take from him the pleasure of his memories. Exhausted, his smile dropped away.

When next he spoke, his voice was so weak, so faint that Sanzo had to lean in close just to catch the words.

“The only light we have now is hope. Will you carry the weight of its torch, Genjo Sanzo? The flames of doubt will try to consume you, but you must remember, they have no weight of their own. They are nothing without the fuel that feeds them. The smoke will try to suffocate you but it too is weightless and can be cleared away. Will you…”

“I don’t know that I can.”

“Ho-ho. You always were brutally honest, my boy.”

Using what must have been his last ounce of strength, Jikaku reached into his pocket with a shaky hand, pulled out his pack of cigarettes and mouthed one out to stick against his bloody lip. “Do you have…a light?”

His grip on Sanzo’s wrist weakened and fell away.

“Don’t you dare die on me, you bastard.” Sanzo shook the man’s shoulders again, as if he could forcefully drive off the shadow of death.

Behind him, people were rushing into the bay to assist. He barely registered them, hardly noticed the shouts of alarm and the commotion around him. He tried to shrug off the helping hands, tightening his hold on the body now gone limp in his arms.

Long red hair briefly flashed across his field of vision. Directly behind him, Gojyo was shouting in his ear. “Don’t be an idiot! You wanna end up the same?”

Gojyo grabbed him by the arm, forced the mask to his face and pulled him bodily away. Sanzo turned back as he was pulled to safety, watched Hakkai kneel at Jikaku’s side and shake his head as he checked for a pulse.

Whatever this ‘light of hope’ was supposed to be, he knew that he would never be able to feel its faint warmth, let alone wield its power.

All hope was dead.

*******

Jikaku made a pathetic corpse. His old shell didn’t even fill out the body bag. His organic substance would add little to their supply system. But what was the alternative? Toss his body out into the Waste to be eaten by giant alien cockroaches? In Burial, where supplies were limited, nothing went to waste. Nothing. Even the most objectionable of criminals were able to make a positive contribution to the community in the end, when their bodies and belongings were recycled into food and resources for the remaining citizens. Not even the wretched cockroaches were safe from a similar fate.

Sanzo sat silently in the processing chamber for some time, staring numbly at the covered corpse. The ever-present hum of the air filters droned on uninterrupted around him. The sound, as reliable as ever, offered some small distraction from the silence, but shared nothing in the way of solace.

Finally, he stood. Grimly, he shoved the gurney tray forward along the track, sliding it into the slot in the machine, unceremoniously offering up his friend’s remains to the people the old man had served, the people he had wanted to save. Inside the machine, unseen, the resource processor rendered the body into raw materials, and it was gone forever.

Tonight, dinner would be served as usual.

Sanzo’s appetite, already repressed by a steady supply of dust, probably would not be back for a while. It didn’t matter. The physical hunger of the body no longer bothered him, and he had already grown used to the howling hunger of a heart that had refused to digest its grief.

*******

Neglecting his duties gave Sanzo too much time to contemplate his failures and mistakes. He longed to simply shrug it all off and stop giving a shit, but unfortunately that lofty height of total wretchedness had yet to be reached. Had it been a mistake to turn against HEAVEN and side with the Youkaians? Had it been a mistake to make a stand at the battle of Nagnahc? Sacred Nagnahc, holy Nagnahc, Nagnahc of the Golden Ground, a place of great power and beauty and revered by the people of Youkai.

He had not stood alone. His hand-picked crew and a large part of his fleet had fought alongside him, risking their lives for what they thought was right and just, believing in his ability to lead them in the uprising.

But had it been right?

He had lost both Goku and his father as a result, and many of those who had fought with him had also died. To blindly follow orders or to stand up and rebel? But there had been other options. He could have deserted, as Jikaku had done. He could have simply ended his own life, and along with it, his conflict. Just as his father had done.

Sanzo’s chest tightened as the anger and frustration sprouted again like weeds in his heart.

Koumyou Sanzo, the Seiten’s chosen captain, Chief of Research at HEAVEN Laboratories, joint co-ordinator of the Division for Biological and Biomechanical Engineering and the Department of the Integration of Technology and Magic, had been sent to Nagnahc to intervene. But how can a father fight against his own son? Likewise, how can a son take aim at the father he has known and loved since infancy?

Koumyou’s intervention became a stalemate. Then the stalemate became a chaotic melee as the captain of the Muten arrived on the scene. Koumyou did not fight. Nor did he defend. At the very end, the stance he took was frustratingly ambiguous, infuriatingly passive, maddeningly sacrificial. He did not choose a side. He did not impart any last words of wisdom or profound revelation explaining his allegiances or his reasons for doing what he did. Vague until the very end. He simply threw down all of his defenses, steered himself into the line of fire and died. Just like that.

And now, hidden away in an underground shelter, far from the holy lands, the celebrated hero of Nagnahc was consumed by an addiction that had gradually grown out of control. Perhaps it was triggered. Perhaps it was intentional. Perhaps he needed to feel what it was like to lose control so that when he came to his senses, he would learn to accept the consequences of his actions. Or perhaps it was simply the fate of one who was too weak to shoulder the burden of his karma. Whatever the case, it so happened that after Sanzo assumed full leadership of Burial in the wake of Jikaku’s death, he wasted no time in getting completely wasted. It got worse before it got better. He upped his dose. He began to binge. Irrational, reckless, strung out and desperate. He didn’t have to think about anything else. It was better this way.

Apparently, Gojyo and Hakkai didn’t agree.

Midday and he was just about to start the cycle all over again when Gojyo banged on his door, the sound obnoxious, insistent, obtrusive.

“Piss off!” Sanzo called through the door. He didn’t have time to deal with this right now.

“Answer me, Sanzo,” Gojyo shouted from behind the door. “What kind of leader are you gonna be, huh? The kind that wallows in self pity? Or the kind that stands up and fights?”

Something about those words pissed Sanzo off. He stumbled to the door and abruptly threw it open, and for a moment, Gojyo was left knocking on thin air.

Sanzo stood there glaring at him, shirtless and barefoot, shadows under his eyes and his tousled hair in need of a trim. “Fight? Fight for what?” He asked, his voice as dry as his throat felt. “There is nothing left that’s worth fighting for on this entire shitty planet. It’s all gone to hell. May as well go there, too.”

Gojyo frowned in disgust. “Really? _Really?_ Are you seriously fuckin’ serious right now? This is coming from the guy who was willing to lose everything for the sake of what he believed in? Your home planet, possibly your life, your friend’s lives, your status in the fleet… your own father? You need me to knock some sense into you right now? ‘Cause I’d be more than happy to oblige.” Gojyo tilted his head and grinned, cold and toothy, as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. His smile quickly dropped away, but he was still standing there in the doorway like a taxman come to collect his dues.

Sanzo’s face twisted. “Don’t threaten me. And do not ever mention my father again. He’s a traitor, a hypocrite. I am _ashamed_ to be his son.”

Gojyo took a step across the threshold, got right up in Sanzo’s face. “How dare you say that, you ungrateful piece of… “ He sucked in a breath, stifling his harsher words. “Look, whatever he was or whatever he did or didn’t do, whoever's side he was on… in the end, _he died for you_.”

Sanzo's eyes flared with a flash of barely-restrained power as his defensive shield rippled in response to Gojyo's approach and aggressive stance. Both Gojyo's opinion and his proximity were unwelcome guests and the words stung deep into the wounds of Sanzo's doubts and insecurities. His binge-fried nerves, frayed and stretched to the breaking point, finally snapped. On impulse, he took a swing, his fist flying towards Gojyo’s clenched jaw in an arc of un-choreographed anger and unfiltered emotion, trigger-happy and drug-induced.

Gojyo ducked his head to dodge the blow and Sanzo's uncoordinated momentum carried him forward into an ineffectual and inelegant loss of control. Gojyo managed to show more restraint and simply shoved Sanzo in the chest in return, hard, knocking the breath out of him before he had a chance to catch his guard. Sanzo stumbled backwards, lost his balance and hit the floor at Gojyo's feet. Gojyo didn’t laugh, just stood there glowering as Sanzo landed on his ass in an undignified heap.

“Feh. You’re so goddamned dusted right now, you can’t even think straight, let alone land a hit. Makes me sick." Gojyo slammed the door all the way open until it bounced off the wall with an angry bang, hard enough to leave a small souvenir dent in the metal. He intercepted the door with his booted foot at is ricocheted back. "You’d better get your shit together, Sanzo. Whether or not you want to acknowledge it, there are people here who depend on you. Jikaku died for something he believed in. He never gave up on that belief, and he never gave up on the people in this town, including you. And what about you, huh? What now? Are you just gonna give up? If your father didn’t die for you, then what did he die for? What are you gonna _live_ for, huh? Huh?”

Sanzo opened his mouth, but nothing wanted to come out, as if all the words had been sucked dry. As parched as the sand, as dry as dust.

Gojyo wasn’t finished. Not yet. “Yeah,” he continued. “So everybody’s dead. Your dad, Goku, Jikaku. I get it. My brother is probably dead. Hakkai’s woman: dead. His unborn baby: dead. Everybody is fucking dead, okay? So fucking what? It hurts. We deal with it and we move on and we live. For our _own sake_ , not for theirs. You know why?”

Gojyo’s voice was rising again. “I’ll tell you why. Cause they’re gone! They’re not fucking here anymore, so they don’t get to dictate how we live our lives. That’s my answer.” His red eyes, the colour of a glorious Earth sunset, blazed with anger and the fire of life.

Sanzo glared up at him, but there was confusion and hurt mixed with the fury in his bleary, bloodshot eyes.

Gojyo grabbed the door handle, squeezing it tight. “You’d better think of a good answer of your own, ‘cause I’m not just gonna let you wither away without at least bothering to try. Like I said, get your shit together. Okay? I’ll be waiting. Me an’ Hakkai, too. We both will.” He slammed the door shut between them and the sound echoed in Sanzo's ears like a gunshot.

Sanzo lay on the floor for some time. Whether it was the physical blow, or the blow to his pride, or the sad fact that here he was, in the process of crashing after his last session of doping himself up to the gills, knocked flat on his ass and he barely had the energy to get back up on his feet, let alone the mental motivation to do so. Was this really what his life had become?

_“Be strong, Sanzo, be strong.”_

What right did Koumyou have to tell him that? Did his own father not have any faith in him? Of course he was strong. If he was weak, he never would’ve made it as far as he had. He was a _survivor_. He _survived_. That’s what he did, even if everyone else around him dropped like flies. And he didn’t need Koumyou, or a dying man, or Gojyo, or anyone else to tell him that. It was in his DNA. It was in his blood, in his bones, his battle scars. It was in his eyes, his hands, his heart. It was _in him_. Now. And that was his answer.

He needed a shower. He needed a hot cup of coffee, or even better, the potent garbage that passed for coffee here on this pain-in-the-ass alien planet. He needed… his goddamned ship. The tin can beast that had, for some unexplained reason, chosen him and decided to drag him into all of this mess to begin with. And he needed to take Hakkai up on his offer of a proper detox before he fried his brains or died of an overdose and suffocated in his own puke. Or got himself killed in the next drug deal gone wrong.

But what he really needed, most of all right this fucking minute, was to get his shit together and peel his sorry ass up off of the goddamned floor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dusted**

**Chapter 3**

Sub Sector 12, located at the easternmost edge of Burial, seemed to exist in a constant state of haphazard disarray, largely due to the community marketplace and gathering space that had sprung up in the large, open storage bay central to the area. This communal trading area had been partitioned into makeshift stalls using tarps and scrap metal. Narrow alleyways twisted and meandered around in a constantly shifting maze of offerings both legitimate and illicit. Supplies were scare, so any rare commodity could fetch a good price and bartering was a common form of currency.

Sanzo worked his way through this aggravatingly unorganized sector, almost glad of the reassuring uniformity of the stark metal floors and the sterile, dry scent of the highly filtered air. Already weary of skulking around incognito on shifty, self-centred errands, he walked with his head down and his hood up, goggles slung around his neck and a light-duty filter mask covering the lower half of his face. For a sheltered community of refugees and deserters in the middle of the toxic Waste, his garb didn’t really turn any heads. Still, he remained wary. As the so-called leader, he knew that he should ideally be a face and a voice for the people, but that was a risk far too great to take. If word got out that he was here, the entire settlement would be in danger.

With communications so poor, he had no way to broadcast any kind of planet-wide message to the people. Frustration and impatience were very real side effects of his current state of limbo, even without the addiction nipping at his heels, and so he continued to prowl around the corridors looking for his next fix. At least it kept him from going completely stir crazy as he spent most of his time holed up inside main headquarters, dealing with crappy communication signals and trying to keep Burial from running amuck. He almost hoped something would happen, something to force his hand and push him out into the open sooner rather than later. He had to remind himself of the old adage: watch what you wish for.

He had only a rudimentary familiarity with this sector as he preferred to stay away from the more heavily frequented areas, another one of his shortcomings as a leader, but tonight, he knew exactly where he was going, and why. He reached the far side of the marketplace, where it emptied out into a pile of stacked supplies and equipment kept secured behind a locked grate. Beyond that was one little nook of Burial that lay perpetually lost in the shadows of notorious obscurity—a small, out of the way storage space where a massive sandworm had unknowingly managed to break through the wall adjoining its underground nest, allowing a slew of hungry, freshly hatched wormlings to slither their way inside. On that day, the lifeblood of a few good people had been spilled before the creatures had been destroyed.

The Youkaians were, in general, a superstitious people bound by certain customs regarding taboos, and in this instance even most of the resident humans had caught a case of the heebie-jeebies and tended to avoid the spot, now colloquially known as the Sandworm’s Lair. Only one man had been willing to step in and claim the abandoned space.

Since the untimely loss of his previous supplier, Sanzo had been on the hunt for another steady source to feed his habit. A whispered rumour piqued his interest, luring him inexorably down this path. He knew the man of whom the whispers spoke, the one who dwelled in the Lair, and he now had reason to pay an overdue visit.

Having finally left behind the hubbub of the communal area, he paused to double-check that no one was watching, and knocked on the metal door. The hollow sound echoed beneath his fist with a dull thud. A long moment of silence followed with no response. He knocked again and was just about to give up when the door cracked open. A tall Youkaian man peered out, his pointed ears and sideburns framing a pair of pitch-dark goggles with rectangular lenses that completely concealed his eyes.

“Yeah?” The man asked, his voice tight and clipped.

“Yakumo.” Sanzo nodded in greeting. His acquaintance had always been a little on the eccentric side, a loner who was a good judge of character and quick to defend his ideals, but the welcoming and easy-going persona that Sanzo was familiar with seemed cooled and muted by an obvious anxiety. Sanzo hesitated a moment before lowering his hood and lifting his face. “It’s Sanzo.”

Yakumo’s stiff and closed-off lips parted for a moment in genuine surprise. “Hey, long time no see.” He opened the door a little more as his guard dropped, his hand lowering from the hilt of the gun at his belt.

Sanzo glanced around again. “Can I come in?”

Yakumo scratched the back of his head, glancing into the darkened room behind him. “Well, it’s not a good time, but… I did answer the door, so, yeah. Come on in.” He stepped aside and moved back from the door, allowing Sanzo to enter.

Sanzo slipped past him into the room. “How have you been?” He quickly surveyed the quiet, sparsely furnished living space within, keeping his body between Yakumo and the door. All but a few of the light panels had been shut off, and the room was lit with only a minimal ambient glow.

“I’ve been better, my friend,” Yakumo answered quietly, his gruff voice rumbling with a deep, natural warmth, but tinged with a dry, weary apathy. “I'm sorry about Jikaku. He was a good man. Everything feels pointless, doesn't it? I’m scared for the kids.” He walked over to a hanging curtain partitioning off the very back of the room, and pulled it aside, revealing the blanketed bundles of three sleeping children beyond. “So many war orphans, even in a place like this. I couldn’t not take them in. Poor things. What kind of future do they have? Especially with the… _virus_.” He hissed the last word, as if it were a secret too terrible to voice aloud. He let the curtain fall closed and nervously licked at his dry lips. “Is it true that anyone who shows symptoms is shot on sight?”

“There’s no alternative.” Sanzo kept his voice low, their conversation hushed and tinged with shadow. “No cure means no mercy. Once the rage sets in, the infected will attack indiscriminately and will not stand down unless taken out by force. Anyone bitten suffers the same fate.”

Yakumo's sigh sounded like the cold breath of winter, but his fingers brushed gently against the curtain. “Brutal. Just Youkaian though, right? You’re immune?”

Sanzo nodded in bitter affirmation. “Another one of humanity’s little gifts to your people.” Although Yakumo was a trusted acquaintance who had more than proved his worth in battle and could be relied upon to stand by his side, Sanzo had not come here on a social call. He drew a breath and paused, reluctant to broach an uncomfortable topic. “Look. I heard a rumour. That you’re dealing in dust.”

Yakumo’s eyes remained concealed by the goggles, hiding any reaction they may have shown. “Oh. So that’s what this is about.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, as if tossing away all the weight of responsibility and concern with one casual gesture. “It’s true. I can’t lie to you, of all people. I'm a small-scale dealer, just for a bit of extra cash for the kids. So, is this a warning, or…?”

“You’ve misunderstood.” Sanzo had no elegant way to phrase the real reason for his visit and there was no point in beating around the bush. “How much?”

A few heartbeats passed without a word, and then Yakumo’s brows rose in sudden realization. “Oh. You mean— _Oh_. I see.”

“What’s your price?” Sanzo asked again after the silence between them had stretched on a bit too long.

Yakumo sucked in air and released it in a sharp puff, shrugging with his hands. “Well, actually, I’d just like it if you’d talk with me for a bit.”

Sanzo took a step backwards towards the door. “I didn’t stop by to shoot the breeze. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Hey, wait.” Yakumo’s voice took on a sudden urgency and he jerked his arm up as if to stop Sanzo’s retreat. “Look, it’s a fair deal. You’re here. Door’s locked. Where’s the harm? I feel like you showed up _now_ of all times for a reason.” Yakumo indicated a table made from a cargo crate and surrounded by four metal stools.

Sanzo considered for a moment, but it really wasn’t a bad offer, if unexpected. As far as these dealings went, a bit of his time was a very innocent and innocuous offer of exchange. Maybe _too_ innocent. “Fine. After you.” Sanzo reluctantly followed Yakumo to the table and sat down across from him, using his foot to push aside a knitted child’s doll that lay on the floor. He removed his mask, setting it down on the table in front of him.

Yakumo smiled, just a small, sad twitch of the mouth. “Man, it’s good to see your face again. How long has it been, since Nagnahc?”

“Too long. Not long enough.” The atmosphere was strained, awkward, wrong. Sanzo squinted one eye in a suspicious appraisal. “What’s up with the goggles?”

“Oh, nothing,” Yakumo answered, a little too quickly, and reached up to touch the frames as if to assure that they were still securely in place. “I just—it’s nothing.”

A loaded syringe lay in the middle of the table, and it drew Sanzo’s eye. Yakumo followed his glance and then wordlessly reached out and moved the syringe over to the edge of the table, concealing it behind a small satchel.

Sanzo opted to forgo any awkward attempt at small talk and extracted a few high-value coins from a pocket, sliding the currency across the table. “You’ve got the goods?”

Yakumo ignored the money altogether. “Yeah, but I’ve got one other condition. You gotta do it here.”

Sanzo frowned and stood up abruptly. He already regretted his decision to come here. He should have known better than to involve someone he knew. His obvious mistake doused sour acid over his already thin patience. “I don’t use in public.”

Yakumo looked around the room and shrugged again. “I don’t see anybody else here, do you? Kids are sound asleep. Come on. Like I said, I could use the company, that’s all. We’re friends, right? This isn’t just a business transaction, plus it’s not wise to do it alone. I like to keep people safe.”

The silence grew heavier as Sanzo made no move to respond. It was true what Yakumo had said, all of it. The atmosphere here didn’t feel threatening, exactly, just… strange. There was no sense of a trap and no reason to suspect Yakumo of ill intentions. But how well did he really know the man? War and life underground could twist even the sanest of individuals in weird ways. He contemplated his options and walking away still seemed like the best choice. Yet he made no move to leave, the magnetism of what he sought keeping him locked in despite his better judgement. He sat back down.

Yakumo reached into a pouch on his belt and extracted a small packet of powdered dust. Sanzo licked his lips and squirmed slightly where he sat, all thoughts of leaving immediately forgotten. His fingers twitched longingly as Yakumo started to hand over the packet, but Yakumo’s hand stilled and he suddenly withdrew the offer.

The prickling impatience was so intense that it was nearly a physical sensation, as if Sanzo could feel his blood seething in his veins. His eyes flicked up to Yakumo’s face again, silently questioning.

Yakumo was looking straight at him, but those damn, dark lenses remained eerily expressionless, revealing only the reflection of the lights and nothing of the man behind. Yakumo spoke with a hollow ache in his voice, holding the packet almost teasingly just out of Sanzo’s reach. “What’s gonna happen to this world? It’s over, isn’t it? There’s nothing left.”

Sanzo could barely take his eyes off of the goods. So close. “I didn’t come to listen to you harping on about the state of the world.”

Yakumo shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Of course. Hold on a second.” He grabbed the satchel on the table and dragged it closer so that he could rummage around inside. Sanzo watched warily as he extracted a kit containing several items and set them out on the table. A clean-looking glass mortar and pestle, a sealed water bottle, a tube of lubricant, and a sterile packaged syringe. He looked up at Sanzo when he finished. “What’s your preference? You know, I don’t use myself so I’m no expert, but I hear it feels amazing if you plug it. It’s safer than shooting up and it won’t screw up your lungs the way smoking it will.”

Sanzo had heard of rectal administration, but he had never tried plugging himself and didn’t intend to start, not when there were more agreeable methods available. “Not interested.” He sniffed slightly without even thinking about it, as if in anticipation of a now familiar act. “Nasal insufflation suffices.”

Yakumo raised a brow and huffed an arid laugh. “You make snorting dope sound pretty darn clinical. Okay. I guess you don’t want it real bad, then, ‘cause a plug is what I’m offering. Like I said, I like to keep people safe, especially if it’s you. I’ve got limited quantities and there’s other people out there who’d snap it right up.” He shrugged again and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s up to you. Maybe it’s just a nice, clean chat for tonight. Fancy a cup of tea?”

Yakumo may have earned Sanzo’s respect, but the man could be stubborn. “Fuck. Just hand it over.” He wasn’t about to leave empty-handed, not with withdrawal already setting in and his goal right in front of his eyes. “And put your gun on the table where I can see it.”

"Fair enough."

They both took a moment to set aside their weapons and then Yakumo pushed the drug and paraphernalia across the small table. Sanzo hadn’t prepped this way before, but it wasn’t rocket science. He peeled open the syringe, his hands fumbling a bit with the packaging as a slight tremor of withdrawal had already started to manifest. He emptied the bag of drug into the bowl of the mortar, the fine powder sifting out like pure white salvation. He popped the cap on the water and poured in a small amount and spent a couple of minutes thoroughly mixing it all together until the powder dissolved into the clear liquid. He was acutely aware of Yakumo watching him, but at the same time, he was so intent on working towards his fix that it was easier than he would like to admit to simply pretend that the other man wasn’t there.

When he was satisfied with his mixture, he inserted the syringe into the liquid and suctioned it up. Finally, he squeezed a generous portion of lubricant into the empty syringe package and stuck the loaded syringe back inside the package to slick it up, placing it back down on the table until ready for use. With everything set up, he exhaled slowly and looked around the room again, trying to determine the best way to do this and still maintain some privacy.

Yakumo seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. “Right here’s fine. I’ll just watch,” he said with a perfectly straight face, no hint of trickery or malice.

Sanzo peered suspiciously into the man’s dark goggles. “Never took you for a pervert. Guess I was wrong about you.”

Yakumo shrugged again and Sanzo could imagine punching the damn goggles of his face if he had to see that insipid gesture one more time.

“What can I say?” Yakumo tilted a corner of his mouth into a sharp little smirk, but it was gone a second later. “I never took you for the kind of guy who’d lose himself to this garbage. Guess we’re both disappointed.”

Sanzo allowed the barb to sink in where it belonged, almost welcoming the twinge. He knew he deserved it. They stared at each other across the table for a moment, locked in a silent duel. Sanzo knew why he put up with this idiocy. But what kind of game was Yakumo playing at? “Bloody hell.” Sanzo stood up, nearly knocking over his stool in the process. He yanked off his belt and tugged down his zipper, the sound like an angry hiss splitting open the dark, quiet space as he reluctantly exposed his body to the air. He peeled down the top half of his dragon skins, facing towards Yakumo where he could keep a careful eye on him.

“Turn around.” Yakumo sat cross-armed and impassive, his directive somewhere between a casual demand and a hard suggestion.

Sanzo frowned. “Fuck you.” He pivoted around on his heels so that his back faced Yakumo, on guard and once again forced to appreciate the damn Maten's sensory aura. Oddly, if was almost easier to face an enemy with a gun that it was to deal with a friendly acquaintance under such awkward circumstances. He tugged his bodysuit down past his hips, put one booted foot up on the stool and stood with his legs slightly parted. If it had been anyone else and for any other reason, he never would have considered putting himself into such a shamelessly compromised position of vulnerability. He picked up the syringe from the table and glared back over his shoulder. “Don’t expect me to come back here after this.”

“Nah. You’re an addict, right? You’d be back. Just don’t expect me to still be here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sanzo asked as he reached behind and searched with a finger to locate his orifice. He wasn’t exactly adept at sticking things up where the sun doesn’t shine. He winced as he inserted the tip of the lubed-up syringe, pushing past the sharp pain and unfamiliar discomfort.

Yakumo chuckled behind him, dry and humourless. “Guess you always did seem like a bit of a tightass. Shove it way up there. You’ll feel a whole lot better.”

“Shut up.” Being mocked didn’t do anything to cool Sanzo’s determination. On the contrary, his tension relaxed slightly with some kind of weird, self-exonerating relief. He had the distinct sense of being subjected to a bit of innocuously dirty ribbing rather than something overtly devious. If this scenario wasn’t heading down the sordid path he had feared, then at least he was grateful for that, because he honestly didn't know anymore just how that would've played out.

Once Sanzo had worked the syringe a couple of inches inside, he depressed the plunger at a steady pace, squirting the mixture up into his body. His muscles spasmed at the odd sensation of the cold, wet pressure. He froze, his eyes widening with the intense tingle as the drug reacted against sensitive tissue. The prickling sensation increased and spread, like an internal stinging heat that veered towards pain. His thighs trembled as his entire body involuntarily tensed. Thankfully, this initial stage was short-lived as the anesthetic effects of the powerful, fast-acting drug began to kick in. The unpleasant feeling quickly numbed out, and a warm, welcome wave of calm washed over him. Soon after, the first rush of euphoria hit like a truck full of pure sunshine and rainbow sparkles.

His legs suddenly felt like jelly and he turned to lean against the table for support, fighting the inclination to give in and sink to his knees. He was still well aware that he had company, was practically naked, and had already allowed himself to be manipulated into a situation he was uncomfortable with. His face flushed with more than just the drug in his system as humiliation ripped like a hot needle right through his chest, only to be soothed against the sickly sweet, seductive pleasure that compelled him in to simply close his eyes and float away on the river of bliss. Resisting the urge to succumb, he bit his lip, crushing the tender flesh between his teeth until he tasted blood. He could have refused. He could have left at any time. But no, he had willingly agreed to this act of degradation because that’s how royally screwed up be had become. Just like Yakumo had said, he was an addict, and that meant that his own judgement and decision-making capacity could no longer be trusted, not when he was craving that next hit so badly that there was no value in anything else, not even his own self-respect.

Yakumo’s stool scraped across the floor on the other side of the table as he stood.

“Stay back.” Sanzo shot a glare at the other man, hoping that his threat would manage to pierce through the glassy haze in his eyes.

Yakumo held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Forgive me, Sanzo, but I need to confess something to you, and it’s easier this way. I first met you at the sacred Golden Ground, and you had this aura that drew me in. You’re no holy man, no saviour, I know that, but I need to burden you with my transgressions. When I do, you’re gonna want me dead on the spot, but I need a couple minutes of time and you can’t get the jump on me real easy right now. Just listen, please, and I hope you'll understand.”

Yakumo picked up the loaded syringe that Sanzo had noticed earlier and popped off the safety cap. “This is a fatal dose of dust. It’s for me. But I got three more in there for the kids. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I can’t leave them behind in this messed up world. I just can’t.”

“What are you… t-talking about?” Yakumo wasn’t making sense. The words seemed to wash through Sanzo’s ears like a meaningless babble of white noise.

Sanzo watched as Yakumo reached for the goggles and at last pushed them up onto his forehead. Underneath, unnaturally golden eyes shone with a faint light.

 _Infected_.

“I don’t want to die. But there’s no other option and not much time. Even now, I can feel it, like a constant buzz in the back of my head that just keeps getting louder and harder to ignore. Now that you’re here, you can act as witness and I feel a whole lot better knowing that you'll see what happens here tonight, that the kids and I won’t just vanish without a trace. I’m sorry about the indignity, but the high should help take the edge off what you’re about to see. So, consider that my parting gift.” He smiled, and there was a trace of the warmth that Sanzo remembered. That warmth exploded in Sanzo’s chest, mixed with the shame and confusion and everything else, blended with the euphoria and burst into a sudden realization.

Yakumo turned and began to walk towards the children’s curtain.

His arms still braced against the table, Sanzo reached out with his voice. “Yakumo—" _You're not a murderer,_ his mind whispered, but it was hard to speak coherently, his thoughts failing to line up with his tongue as he struggled to catch up with the reality of this bizarre turn of events. It was like watching a beautiful trainwreck or the collision of distant worlds. Deadly, spectacular, and beyond his reach.

Yakumo stopped in his tracks, and for a long moment he stood as if frozen. A strange, strangled groan, like the muted growling of some hungry animal, emanated from his still body and seemed to fill the room with an ominous vibration. He doubled over at the waist, his chest heaving as if he were about to wretch. “No, not yet,” he choked out, his voice thick with garbled anger and despair and nearly unrecognizable. “I need time—” The words cut off abruptly as if he had just bitten the sentence off at the root and swallowed it whole. He rose up and turned back towards Sanzo, his eyes now glowing with a fiendish light. From that moment, Yakumo, the man Sanzo had known, was no more. In his place stood a mad, infected beast with nothing but bloodlust permeating what was left of its sickened mind.

Sanzo reached for his gun, but it wasn't at his belt. A second too late, he remembered it was still on the table.

Yakumo lurched towards him, the syringe in hand and descending in an unthinking attack. Sanzo’s reaction time was slowed, but he managed to twist his body away, only not far or fast enough. The needle pierced his skin as it jabbed into his side with a stabbing force.

The dark curtain shifted, and a small hand drew it aside as one of the children stepped out into the room, sleepy eyes bleary and confused. With a roar, Yakumo abandoned his attack on Sanzo and turned towards the child. A shrill, short scream shrieked across the room.

Sanzo squeezed his eyes shut as a sudden burst of uncontrolled power and light tore through his body, emanating from his skin with an agonizing heat that burned like fire but left no mark. The Maten had reacted instinctively to the threat, Sanzo’s ability to control the power short-circuited by his current predicament and further hindered by the distance between himself and his ship, rendering the blast uncoordinated and chaotic. He could feel the hesitation as the ship picked up on his conflict of interest regarding the current target.

“Maten! Do it! _Now_!” He stretched out his hand to release a directed blast of power.

Yakumo had grabbed the child in what should have been the gentle hands of a father figure, but his terrible fangs ripped brutally into the flesh and muscle of the girl’s upper arm. The blast struck him in the back of the head, killing him instantly, and he dropped the child as he fell to his knees.

Yakumo’s body began to dissipate, coming apart at the molecular level as his biological material went through the process of the final transition. As gold as his eyes, brilliant and aglow, the particles of his physical being dispersed into millions of tiny motes of light, like multitudes of stars in the darkened room. It made for a pretty send off. And then he was gone.

Sanzo looked down at the needle sticking into his side. The syringe was about a third emptied, but the needle had been bent before the full amount could be injected. Probably not good, but he could worry about that later. He pulled it out and tossed it aside. Gritting his teeth, he pushed off the table, stumbling over to the injured child.

Blood spurted from the little girl's wound and tears streaked from wide, frightened eyes down her chubby cheek. “Am I gonna disappear too?” 

Sanzo didn’t want to conceal the reality of life behind the false comfort of lies. Not even for a child’s sake. Not when they lived in the same world and faced the same cold, hard truths. Not when all of Earth’s children were being fed on nothing but a diet of falsehoods and fabrications.

“Not yet,” he ground out, vehement, defiant, grim. There was nothing else he could say, no other assurance he could offer.

The child was already growing weak from loss of blood, and the bite meant she was already infected with the virus. There was no hope.

In a small, trembling voice, she spoke again. “Mister, please help my sister… Her eyes went all funny. She bit Papa Yakumo...”

 _Fuck_ , thought Sanzo somewhere in the muddled mess inside his head. Everything had gone from bad, to worse, to totally shit-hit-the-fan levels of craptastic in a very short period. He crawled through the curtain and held up a glowing hand to illuminate the space. He pulled back the blankets wrapped around the bundled children. There, one small human boy cowering under the covers, and the other, a little Youkaian girl with her hands and feet tied, a gag in her mouth and her wild, infected eyes ablaze with the mad bloodlust born of the virus. _Shit._

He fumbled around in a pile of clothing on the floor and grabbed a child’s stocking, crawling with it back to the wounded girl even as his body became increasingly difficult to operate. He didn’t know exactly how much drug had been injected, but he knew whatever he was feeling now wasn’t part of a typical experience. The effect was rapidly dulling his high from a moment ago and dragging it down with the ominous weight of what felt like a prognosis of imminent death. Focusing on his immediate objective, he tied the sock into a tight tourniquet above the child's wound.

That accomplished, he sank to the floor. His vision was going fuzzy and each breath caught in a sharp, stuttering spasm until he could barely get any air. His chest ached and a film of feverish sweat drenched his brow. He reached for where the communication device at his collar should be, momentarily confused by its absence until he realised that the top half of his bodysuit was currently still bunched somewhere around the vicinity of his waist. He reached for the device, fumbling with numb fingers until he disconnected it from his collar. He tapped it repeatedly. If there was ever one moment when the damn signal just needed to connect without a fight, now was that time. And finally, the welcome _click_ of a successful connection. His tongue numb and heavy like a wad of cotton wool, he slurred his urgent message between gasping breaths. “Sanzo—Sub Sec—12... Sand—Lair... Virus... injured—Need immediate… assist—”

Lying in a puddle of blood, half naked and with an unspecified overdose seeping through his veins, Sanzo’s vision went black as he lost consciousness.

***

Sanzo sat on the cot in the medical ward, feeling much more comfortable now that he was conscious and able to both breathe and see. A square patch of bandage covered the needle stick injury on his side. The entry wound was minuscule, but the high concentration of the drug had proved toxic and irritating to the surrounding tissues.

“You were lucky,” Said Hakkai as he checked Sanzo’s vital signs before giving him the final all-clear. “This time.”

Sanzo swallowed and pushed back the residual pain. “It’s fine. I’ve got everything under control.” It wasn’t really a lie, not when he said it like he meant it, and it sounded like something even he could believe.

Hakkai opened his mouth as if to say more, but just then Gojyo popped into the room. Rarely had Sanzo been more relieved to see his face.

“Gojyo,” Sanzo snapped, immediately getting to his feet before either of the others had a chance to voice their unsolicited opinions. “Sub Sector 12. The entire area is a fucking disaster zone. Get people in there and clean up the whole sector. I want it spotless." He turned his attention to Hakkai, letting all of his frustration blaze up into a fury that burned in his eyes, his voice rising in volume. "Hakkai, how the hell did we end up with an infected kid in here? Unacceptable. I want a complete review of security and the scanners. Have every single resident checked for signs of the virus. Put Burial on lockdown. No one leaves until we're clear. Any new arrivals either get turned away or they stay in strict quarantine. And no more permanent intakes. We’re already over-crowded and we don’t have the space or the resources to support any more than we’ve already got. Understood? Don’t stand there like idiots. Get on it, now!”

Gojyo straightened his back and shot off an exaggerated salute. “Aye, aye!” He tossed a lopsided and suspiciously satisfied grin in Hakkai’s direction.

Knowing that the other two had been worrying about his competency and probably conspiring about interventions behind his back only pissed Sanzo off all the more. He darkened his frown for good measure and jabbed a finger in the direction of the corridor. “I said move it!”

He needed to act the part of leader, even if he didn’t feel it. He needed to dredge up some morsel of self-respect before every last ounce of his dignity disappeared down the dirty drain.

But the vision of golden eyes was already burnt into his mind. Was HEAVEN working to corrupt even that memory? Golden eyes, and a father figure who willfully disappears in a puff of smoke, taking his child’s good faith with him into his untimely demise.

 _Fuck it._ If there was anything worth fighting for, then he’d just have to dig through the shit to find it, because he wasn’t giving up. Not yet. Not when there were still kids out there who had never asked for any of this.

He grabbed his things and stalked out of the clinic. At least there were no bodies to process, although that wasn't necessarily a blessing, and he didn't envy Hakkai having to deal with the infected child's euthanasia. He went straight to his quarters and slammed the door. Immediately, he gathered up every trace of the drug that he had stashed in his room, all of his emergency supplies, and dumped it in the trash. He picked up the bucket and headed for the door, intending to march straight out to the trash processor. His hand on the door handle, he stopped, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. Compelled by a deep physiological and psychological dependency that made it nearly physically impossible to proceed, he turned and tossed the contents of the bin helter-skelter onto his bed. A couple of bags spilled onto the floor, one splitting open and dusting the bare metal with a fine powder. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"It's fine." Alone with his thoughts, he repeated this assertion like a mantra. "I've got everything under control."

Slowly, he slid from the bed to the floor. He ran his hands through his hair, his nails scratching lightly against his scalp. His gaze flicked to the spilled powder at his feet and he trailed a finger through the dust. It looked so harmless. Like icing sugar. He pressed the tip of his finger to his tongue, letting the trace of powder dissolve in his mouth. It tasted nasty, like a chemistry lab. It tasted like more.

A small, dark smile slowly curled one side of his lip and he leaned he head back to rest against the edge of the bed.

At this moment, he assured himself, he definitely had everything under complete control. As long as that control meant that he had access to just one little thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Dusted**

**Chapter 4**

_Intruder alert! Intruder alert!_ The insistent cry of the alarm echoed down the corridors and filled every nook and cranny of the underground complex with its urgent message, ensuring that they’d have an army of citizens up and ready to defend themselves in a matter of moments. This was life on planet Youkai. Burial had its security force, but in the event of a large-scale invasion, they had to be ready for the worst. The night lights went out and then the emergency lights switched on in their place, the panels flashing in a repetitive pattern of bright red.

“Shit.” Sanzo dragged himself out of bed and a restless sleep to respond to the call. He dressed quickly, zipping up his dragon leathers. The soft, supple material, so finely textured that it was nearly smooth to the touch, belied its true protective strength. There was no animal back on his home planet with a skin like this, a natural armour of the finest grade. How typical that humanity had hunted many of the native creatures of Youkai to extinction.

An essential component of his preparations involved a little pick-me-up to start the day good and proper. There was no telling what he was about to go up against. There may not be time nor opportunity to dose up for a while and he didn’t need to be dealing with withdrawal in the middle of a siege. If he was careful with the dosage, he could avoid the heavy, intense euphoria, the milder effect just wouldn't last as long. He sat at the desk and portioned out a small amount of the powder and took a moment to lean in and snort up a good, satisfying hit. Inelegant, undignified, nothing to be proud of, this quick and dirty high. He threw back his head, made sure to suck it all in. _Now_ he was awake. His eye caught the mirror, his reflection making sorry excuses even as it accused him of falling back on his earlier reassurances to himself and Hakkai.

So what if he hadn’t gotten around to every item on his little self pep talk from the other day? He was working on it. This was real life, and in real life, nothing’s as easy as it sounds in your head when you’re screwed up and totally wasted. At least he had managed to get back to work. That was a start. Right now, he had some intruder ass to kick.

He made a hasty check in the mirror to be sure he hadn’t spilled any evidence of his transgressions. Good to go. He grabbed his gear, double-checked that his gun was loaded and tucked it into his belt. Pulled on his boots and buckled them up. Took a moment to pause and feel the Maten’s presence, checking that the protective aura was working as it should. The tingle crawled like needle-footed insects beneath his skin. He threw on his coat, pulled up his hood, slung his respirator mask over his shoulder and headed out.

Gojyo met up with him in the corridor and fell in step at his side. Peering over the tops of the dark glasses that hid his half-Youkaian heritage, Gojyo quickly briefed him on the situation as they moved to rendezvous with the rest of the security team. “Intruder’s up on surface level. Seems like just the one. Whoever it is just tried to slip in down below.”

A solitary intruder shouldn’t be a big deal. There was just one little problem. “How did he get past the walls?”

“Not sure. But he’s fast. And crazy strong. Guy nearly ripped the doors off before we interrupted him.”

“Youkaian, then.”

Gojyo adjusted his weapon belt as he walked. “Yeah. But I’ve never seen an ordinary Youkaian who could move like that. Not even one with the berserker bug.” He glanced over at Sanzo. “I’ve only known one person who could move that fast.”

“An Outcast? Not likely,” Sanzo scoffed, quick to dismiss the idea. He kept his eyes focused on the path ahead. He’d never met another one of Goku’s kind and would he happy to keep it that way. But it didn’t matter who or what it was. It all boiled down to just another annoying piece of business to take care of, the quicker the better.

They emerged on the surface to a night as warm and unwelcoming as the arms of a freshly killed corpse. The poorly lit streets were a hindrance in a manhunt. “Where is he? Get the watchtower lights on and start a sweep sector by sector. If he got in, then he can get out just as easily, so watch the walls.”

The tower lights switched on a moment later, illuminating the drab grey walls of the surface buildings.

“Up there!” One of the security personnel shouted, pointing. “He’s on top of the East Watchtower.”

Sanzo looked up. “What the hell?”

The intruder perched on the edge of the tower’s roof in a casual crouch, cloak falling loosely in the windless air.

“How did he get up there?” Sanzo had to admit it was an impressive feat.

The figure turned its head and seemed to gaze directly at him for a long moment. The unmistakable gleam of golden eyes behind a clear visor caught the light.

Sanzo did not hesitate to give the order. “Infected. Shoot it. _Now_.” As long as there was no cure, there was no other alternative. He didn’t fancy another up-close encounter with the virus. He drew his gun and aimed.

The intruder moved again, leaping from the tower as bullets from multiple guns ricocheted behind him, and landed on top of the perimeter wall. Whoever it was used the wall as a launching pad and just kept on going, in the air again so fast that Sanzo almost didn’t see which direction they took. He whirled, trying to keep the figure in his line of sight, and leveled his gun. He took aim, and… it jumped again, down onto a rooftop, cloak fluttering up with the straight drop. The movements look effortless. Almost like flying. Another leap across a gap, and it was gone.

There was a tense moment of silence as Sanzo and his team scanned the rooftops, searchlights sweeping across the enclave.

“What the hell,” whispered Gojyo, turning in a slow circle as he surveyed their surroundings. “Okay, let’s split up into teams. Remember, it’s shoot to kill.”

Sanzo caught his eye, and they exchanged a nod.

“You all know what to do if anyone gets bit,” Gojyo continued. “Don’t hesitate. That’ll only make it harder. Move out!”

There was obvious tension in their midst, no one knowing quite what they were up against, but there was a collective affirmative response from the team. They silently split up to commence the search, everyone watching each other’s backs as well as the rooftops as they sought their unknown target.

In the dead air, the haze hung thick and heavy, trapping the heat of the day. The surface had recently been cleared of the sand and ash that tended to gather and build up on the streets and rooftops that now served as a playground for a contagious predator.

It was so still that Sanzo could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the initial high of the drug in his system having edged out into the residual rush that was nearly as good and kept him going until the next fix. His mouth was dry, although not from fear. He was focused, alert, ready for anything.

He didn’t have long to wait. There was a faint scuffle from above, something brushing against the edge of his aura, bright, bold, but surprisingly soft. It did not feel like a threat. Confused, Sanzo turned towards the source.

Just in time.

The figure landed lightly on the ground only a couple of metres in front of him, golden eyes glowing behind the hood and visor. He levelled his gun and took aim between its eyes. It revealed a flash of teeth, but not in the enraged snarl of the infected and conspicuously without the sharp canines of a typical Youkaian. It _smiled_. Sanzo had a clean shot, but he hesitated. Only one thing immediately came to mind, one impossible possibility that attempted to scream its way through the shock and denial. Moves like an Outcast. Golden eyes. Human features? Sanzo tried to shove the thought aside.

Goku was gone. Dead. Killed in battle.

 _But what about the signal_? _Could it have been...?_

Had he thrown away his hope so easily, as if it were worth less than nothing? _No_.

Sanzo narrowed his eyes, his finger poised on the trigger. “Who are you?”

Sudden movement to the left. He jerked his head, keeping his weapon trained on the intruder as he raised a defensive hand, his palm glowing with power.

 _Gojyo._ He had been so intent on the encounter, he'd nearly forgotten that Gojyo was with him—weapon raised and ready to shoot where he himself was faltering.

“No!” He knocked Gojyo’s arm to the side at the last second and the bullet discharged off to the left, punching a neat hole in a wall.

The intruder was off again like a shot in the night.

Gojyo spun towards Sanzo, red hair whipping against his scarred cheek as he readjusted his grip on the gun. “What the hell, Sanzo! I had him! He was _right_ there!”

Sanzo didn’t waste time trying to argue or explain. He took off in hot pursuit, running recklessly, vaulting over a railing, adrenaline and the dust in his veins fueling his body. He turned a corner, following the barest glimpse of the tail end of an orange cloak. The chase ended as suddenly as it began, face to face, as he nearly collided with his target head-on at the dead stop of a full-on run. A mere foot apart now, the man, shorter than him by a good several inches, lifted his head and drew back his hood. That smile broke wide open again on a heart-falteringly familiar face.

Recognition hit like an explosion, a sudden, blinding realization, so overwhelming that for a moment it left Sanzo shell-shocked, his defenses down and all denial obliterated in the blaze of white-hot reality. 

“Sanzo! I knew it was you. I knew I’d find you here. I knew—”

“ _Shut up_.” Cold words to douse the flames threatening to tear down the walls. React fast to gain control. _Don’t hesitate. It’ll only make it harder. “_ Do not speak. Turn around and close your eyes. Do not open them until I say so. Understood?”

Goku blinked, nodded, and his eyes locked on Sanzo’s one more time before squeezing unquestioningly shut. In those eyes, there was more trust than Sanzo had ever known, more than he himself had ever had to give.

He grabbed Goku—yes, _Goku_ , alive—by the arm, pressed the muzzle of his gun firmly into his back, and marched him straight back in the direction they had come.

“Hold your fire,” he shouted to the squad. “Stand down. I’ve got him.”

_He’s here. He’s alive._

*******

Sanzo didn’t let go of Goku until he had been safely smuggled inside the inner sanctum. As they walked silently along, Goku at gunpoint, he’d used that time to prepare, to take a last moment to ready himself as he steered Goku to the middle of the living quarters at base, the humble space where he, Gojyo, and Hakkai had been eking out a living and finding what comfort they could in an uncertain life. He let go of Goku’s arm and stepped away.

As soon as Goku opened his eyes, he knew something would happen. Something would change. Sanzo could feel it. Goku, like a force of nature, would bring that change sweeping in like a storm. And Sanzo wasn’t sure he was ready. He took off his mask and braced himself to face the tempest. “Open your eyes. We’re home.”

Goku’s eyes snapped open. In a flurry of motion, he ripped off his mask and pack and tossed them to the floor. Then it happened. The moment that Sanzo had been both craving and dreading. Those wide-open eyes immediately sought him out as if starving for the sight of him and their eyes met.

For a moment, they both simply looked at each other without words.

Sanzo swallowed a lump of emotion in his throat. Goku’s hair fell longer and shaggier than when Sanzo had last seen it. Travel-worn, his clothes and cloak looked in need of mending and a good wash, but he seemed as bright and alert as ever, with no trace of weariness. In fact, he practically glowed with vitality. The metallic coronet, the Limiter that had been placed on HEAVEN’s order to suppress his true Youkaian nature and allow him to blend in with his human surroundings back on Earth, glinted dully upon his brow. All-in-all, Goku remained as Sanzo remembered. Physically, he had matured a little, but still had the large eyes and impish features that made him appear younger than his years. But one thing had changed in the three years that they had been apart: Goku now seemed to shine with a fresh self-assurance that suited him well.

Sanzo wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what Goku saw in him.

“Yeah,” said Goku at last, with a quiet wonder, a smile as warm and bright as a rising sun spreading across his face. “I _am_ home.”

His smile grew into a wide grin and then the vocal floodgates came crashing down, his voice almost too big and buoyant for the stark, minimalist space to contain. “Three years. Three freakin’ years! But I knew I’d see you again, it was just a matter of time. Sorry it took so long.”

As if his return had always been inevitable. As if those three years had been Sanzo’s burden alone, and all for naught.

Goku took a couple of steps closer and tilted his head like a puppy. “Did ya miss me?”

He knew Goku didn’t need an answer, that he already knew. Goku’s faith, his absolute lack of doubt that they would meet again, shone a glaring spotlight down into the bottomless pit that Sanzo had dug himself into.

“Hn. I don’t know. It’s been a hell of a lot quieter without you.” He paused. “I thought you were dead.” He tried to hide the grief and gravity of those five words, but he knew he had failed miserably by the look on Goku’s face. Goku launched himself forward, nearly throwing Sanzo off balance with the force of his catapult hug. Strong arms wrapped around him in an embrace almost too tight for comfort. It took Sanzo’s breath away.

“Are we interrupting?” Gojyo stood in the doorway, his voice full of good-natured cheer.

He had brought Hakkai, who entered carrying a welcoming tray of food and drink. He set the things down on the table in the centre of the room. “Welcome back, Goku. I’ve taken the initiative to prepare a few things. I’m sure you must be famished.”

Goku broke free and slipped away, leaving Sanzo’s chest empty and cold.

“Hakkai! Gojyo!” Goku spread his arms wide in greeting and then clapped his hands together, the embodiment of joy. “Hi! I could eat ten whole plates!”

Gojyo laughed, playfully ruffling Goku’s hair. “Yeah, more like twenty, right?”

Sanzo watched quietly on the sidelines as Goku greeted the others in a noisy commotion, glad of the reprieve and the chance to gather his thoughts.

Goku didn’t need to be invited to sit for the meal. Once the welcome had settled down and he remembered just how hungry he was, he was at the table almost before Sanzo could blink, practically salivating over the simple fare as he loaded up his bowl. Distracted by the physical need to satisfy his body’s demands for nutrition, Goku’s attention finally turned to the food, and Sanzo felt some respite from the intensity of his warm affections.

“This is awesome,” Goku said around a mouth stuffed full of hot stew made with chunks of processed nutrient blocks mixed with cooked grains from storage and seasoned with salt and whatever other spice Hakkai had managed to scrounge up from the traders. “This beats desert cockroach any day. This is a luxury feast compared to those things.”

Gojyo quirked a brow. “Hey, monkey, you do know where this food comes from, right?”

“Now, now, Gojyo.” Hakkai filled their cups with steaming hot herbal tea poured from a plain ceramic pot, real tea made with real plants and saved for special occasions. “Let him enjoy his meal.”

“Truth’s a bitter pill to swallow.” Gojyo stuck his spoon in Goku’s bowl and stole a bite-sized chunk, popping it into his mouth. “Won’t stop me from eating it up, though. Just needs more salt. Sugar ‘n’ spice, baby, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He winked at Hakkai as he dodged Goku’s elbow.

All talk stopped for a minute as Goku seriously tucked into the meal. Sanzo passed up on the mild tea and poured himself a cup of the strong, bitter brew that was the closest thing to coffee that could be found here on Youkai. Affectionately dubbed engine grease by Gojyo and more potent than even the strongest caffeinated beverage that Earth had to offer, not many humans developed a taste for it, but it suited Sanzo just fine. He needed to clear his head. He wrapped his hands around the mug, welcoming the warmth that seeped into his skin.

It wasn’t long before Goku started babbling as he ate, talking with his mouth full and occasionally dribbling broth back into his bowl as he slurped up enthusiastic spoonfuls. “Man, it’s so good to see all you guys again, you can’t even believe it. I was expecting to see Hakkai here, but even Gojyo, too.”

“Hey, these guys would be lost without me and my masterful mechanical skills. This whole place would be falling apart at the seams. Am I right, or am I right?” Gojyo drained his cup with a loud sigh of refreshed satisfaction and leaned back in his chair.

Sanzo wasn’t in a mood to contradict Gojyo’s boasts. Besides, it wasn’t as if his skills weren’t useful, and he’d been instrumental in helping him to retrieve Hakkai after the ‘incident’. He was part of the crew now, and had earned his place to belong.

“So,” continued Goku, finally pushing aside his empty bowl. “Obviously, I didn’t die at Nagnahc. I can’t believe you actually thought I was dead!” He frowned at Sanzo in accusation, but his eyes were questioning and troubled. The look passed quickly and soon he was talking animatedly again, telling his story around swigs of tea liberally dunked with ration biscuits as dessert. “So when we got separated, I was on the ground tryin’ to protect the temple, right? It was crazy, everything happening at once and just total mayhem. When Captain Ukoku showed up in his ship, he pinged my comm device and I kinda made a deal with him. You know how he was against me leaving the labs and joining your crew. I was his pet project, right?”

Goku looked around the table at the others, his eyes glowering in resentment, and settled his gaze on Sanzo. His voice dropped into the low, serious tone of a confession, the excitement of his return subdued by the weight of his sudden departure and long absence. “So I agreed to go with him if he’d bugger off. I didn’t want to, but… Something told me that it was the right thing to do. That maybe I could learn something. Plus if his fleet had joined the fight against us, well… we might not even be here anymore.” He looked at Sanzo apologetically, as if seeking understanding and forgiveness.

Sanzo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. All this time, he had been dealing with Goku’s _death_ , and meanwhile it had been Goku himself who had _chosen_ to leave him without a word?

The battle had been chaotic, but this was the first time he had learned a possible reason for why it ended as abruptly as it did. Had Ukoku been the one to trigger HEAVEN’s retreat? Did it have nothing to do with his father’s death after all?

Sanzo’s hands were tight around his cup. He looked up darkly though the shadow of his bangs. “Three years. For three years, you were dead to me.”

Goku ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

Sanzo had no choice but to swallow his resentment like a bitter pill. Goku was free to choose his own path. Sanzo had demanded his inclusion in his crew after the Maten had chosen him as its captain, to gain Goku his freedom and a chance to return to his homeworld, and more selfishly, to keep him by his side. But he didn’t own Goku any more than HEAVEN did. Or Ukoku. “And? Was it worth it? Did you find anything useful?”

“Yeah, actually, I did.” Goku raised his head high. “Ukoku took me to Shangri-La Tower.”

Hakkai paused his cup halfway up to his lips as he and Gojyo exchanged glances. Goku continued with the heavy emphasis of someone who knows they have something important to say, but his excitement soon bubbled up again as he told his story. “I escaped a couple of months ago. I had inside help to get out. I managed to send a signal, too, but I guess it never reached you guys. I wasn’t sure it would, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

“So that was your signal,” Sanzo said. Everything was starting to click into place, as if Goku had been the missing piece of the puzzle all along. “We did get it, but it was distorted by interference. Jikaku insisted on intercepting it, but he was caught in a super storm. He didn’t make it.”

Goku blinked, stricken. “He—Because of my signal? I—”

Sanzo leveled a sharp gaze at Goku, cutting off his blame. “No. It was his choice to go out there. He knew the risks.”

Goku pressed his lips tightly together.

“Finish your tea before it gets cold.” Sanzo took another sip of his own drink, letting the harsh brew wash mercilessly down his throat.

Goku dropped his gaze into his cup, but his enthusiasm had lost some of its earlier gusto.

“If I may ask,” Hakkai said, “You’ve been traveling alone all this time? You managed to miss the storm?”

“Yeah,” added Gojyo, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “How’d you make it all the way through the Waste to get here? On foot? That’s crazy. And how the hell did you breach the walls? Even you can’t jump that high straight up from the ground. Can you?”

“Oh, that was easy. I—” Goku looked up suddenly, as if just realizing something important, a touch of urgency shrilling his voice. “Sanzo? Where’s Maten?”

“Safe. Hidden out in the Waste. Some distance from here.” Already acutely aware of how painfully stretched the connection was between him and his ship and doing his best to suppress the effects, the sudden mention brought the constant discomfort sharply into focus.

“You’re separated? He must miss you.”

Sanzo set his cup down on the table with a thump. “Stop talking about it like it’s a living being. It’s a damn _ship._ A tin can. It has no feelings. Like hell I’d care even if it did.” For a moment, he rubbed his arms, unconsciously trying to soothe over the tingle beneath his skin.

The others were looking at him curiously. “What? I told you I don’t miss that creepy thing.”

Hakkai raised the corners of his mouth, his eyes crinkling in a slight squint. “No one suggested that you do.”

That thinly veiled amusement and pointed patience offended Sanzo like a bad odour wafting through the room and he curled his lip in disgust. He froze when he realized what he was doing with his hands and pressed his nails against his sleeve. He wanted to kick something, maybe Hakkai. But he’d already gone and put his foot in his mouth.

Hakkai cleared his throat. “Goku, what’s the situation at Shangri-La Tower?”

“Right. The Tower!” Goku chugged down the last of his tea, spilling a trickle down his chin in his haste, and he swiped it up with his sleeve. “It isn’t what it seems. It’s not some Utopia like everyone thinks. Guys, there’s some serious crap going down out there. Weird science. It’s like a giant experiment. The crazy storms, the toxins, it’s all being generated there. That’s what the tower _is_ , it’s triggering the storms, pumping out poison into the air. And it’s not just the atmospheric conditions that are interfering with communication signals. The Towers are messing with them, too.”

“But why would HEAVEN deliberately poison the planet?” Gojyo threw his hands up, emphasizing his frustration. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? Is it, like, ‘If we can’t have it without a fight, then you guys can’t have it, either’? What kind of a shit plan is that?”

“Think about it,” said Sanzo. “What does HEAVEN want most? Youkai’s planetary resources, its people, or its power? We already suspect that the source of the magic is within the planet itself, not something inherent in the people. The virus, chemical warfare, severe weather, all less risky than outright attack and it gets rid of the pest problem with minimal loss of human life.”

Goku slapped his palms down on the tabletop. “So Shangri-La is a basically like a giant bug spray bottle? Gross!”

Gojyo’s eyes darkened as a shadow crossed his face. “Fuckers. And where do I fit in, huh? They never asked me what I thought. Doesn’t my existence count as some kinda proof that humans and Youkaians can get along if they want? Taboo, my ass. I live here, too.”

Hakkai generously refilled Gojyo’s cup. “I quite agree, Gojyo,” The elegantly scathing causticity in his voice blended surprisingly well with the delicately sweet aroma of the tea.

“Maybe your existence is just another little experiment.” Sanzo glanced at the two distastefully. Sometimes he wondered whether they didn’t feed off each other’s circumstances a little too much.

“Sanzo?” Goku curled his fingers into fists. “About experiments. He has the Seiten, too.”

“What?” His father’s missing ship.

Goku flapped his hands as if he could cancel out some of the dire significance of what he'd just said. “He can’t use it. Not yet. But he’s been trying to figure out how to crack the Seiten, just like he somehow managed to force the Muten to choose him. He wants to collect all five ships.”

“If he somehow managed to succeed…” Sanzo drained the rest of the noxious contents of his cup in one long, eye-watering guzzle and immediately poured himself another.

“It’s dangerous, right?” asked Gojyo.

Sanzo clenched his jaw. “Dangerous isn’t a strong enough word to describe the scale of the risk involved. Theoretically, if one person were to merge with all five ships, they would have the power to destroy an entire planet, blast it into oblivion. Maybe create a black hole that would suck in the entire universe. No one knows exactly what would happen. But the fact that nearly everyone ‘chosen’ by the ships was killed in the process shows just how much danger is involved. Mixing technology and Youkai magic isn’t taboo for nothing. That’s why there’s supposed to be strict regulations against all five ships sharing the same airspace at once. It’s a rule that was put in place as a necessary precaution. Ukoku must be a fool if he thinks he has a chance of controlling that kind of power.” A disturbing possibility darkened his expression. “Or he knows something we don’t.”

“I still don’t get it," Gojyo said. “What exactly is the guy up to? Would HEAVEN authorize what he's doing? Has he gone rogue or what? Why would _one_ person need that much frikin’ power?”

“Entertainment.” Sanzo spoke the word like poison on his tongue. “It’s all a game to him. He’s the foremost expert on the integration of youkai magic with technology. He designed the ships, but they flat-out rejected him. The Seiten chose my father, his rival. And then the Maten chose me. Maybe he’s decided that he’s not going to lose this game after all.”

Hakkai added a dramatic sigh to the conversation. “Well. I’m afraid I have another piece of news to add to this discussion. The virus. It’s spreading.”

“Shit,” said Gojyo. “Here? Again?”

“Not just here. The supply vessel that arrived the other day reported new cases showing up in the west. The supply runs are becoming more dangerous, trade and travel more limited.” Hakkai folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Sanzo, what do you intend to do?”

Sanzo hesitated, the question holding implications of a greater involvement that he had been trying to avoid.

“Well,” said Gojyo. “No more supply runs mean no more cigarettes, no more engine grease, and no more real, fresh food, which means no relief from repurposed corpse-cockroach puree. So, I say we head out there to that so-called Shangri-La and kick us some mad scientist ass. Then we clean up this planet and send anybody who doesn’t agree with us packing their bags for a one-way ticket to hell. Or Earth. They can take their pick.”

Goku stood, planting his fists down on the table in front of him and rattling the dishes. “Yeah! I’m in. I’m totally, absolutely, 1000% in. As an Outcast, I should be immune to the virus, right? But I'm still Youkaian. So use me. Use me to find the antidote. You can do it, right, Hakkai?”

“I’m willing to try.”

Gojyo beat out a quick, triumphant rhythm on the tabletop with his hands. “I like the way you guys think.”

The three turned to Sanzo as one. “Sanzo, what do you think?” Hakkai asked again, pressing for a reply.

Sanzo looked at Goku. “You don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t have to do this.”

Goku nodded, determination casting a formidable resolve over his youthful face. “I know. It’s okay. I want to do it. ‘Cause what I do owe is some serious payback. HEAVEN used me. When they took me in, I was just a kid, I had no where else to go. And they promised they’d help me, make me like the other Youkaians so they’d accept me. But it was nothing but a big lie to gain my trust. They kept me prisoner, used me in their experiments, made me into some kind of pet pincushion and forced me to turn against my own people. It’s only thanks to you and Koumyou that I was able to leave the labs at all. Besides, if I don’t do something now, then what did I just waste the last three years for? Yeah, I’m in.” He paused and tilted his head. “Sanzo? What about you?”

What was the alternative? Sanzo huffed. “We can’t stay holed up here forever. Burial may seem like shelter now, but if we don’t do something, it’ll become nothing but a tomb. Besides, that bastard Ukoku has the Seiten and I need to have a serious one-to-one with that flying garbage can about what in the hell was going through my father’s head when he decided to do what he did. The plan is a go.”

Gojyo grinned, his eyes glinting with a devilish light. “The rebels of Nagnahc are on the move. Hell, yeah, I like the sound of that, _Captain_ Sanzo.”

Sanzo met his eyes in a silent acknowledgement of the implication behind the remark. He may have stumbled off the path recently, but there were people who were still willing to put their trust in him. “Hn, don’t get too excited. We have a long road trip ahead.”

“Well then.” Hakkai turned to face Goku. “You and I have some work to do. Get a good sleep tonight, settle in, and as soon as you’re ready, we’ll start with a thorough series of medical tests and sampling.”

Goku nodded, but the former enthusiastic determination had sobered into a pinched gravity that Sanzo could feel tightening his own chest.

Sanzo watched Goku for a moment, giving his decision time to sink in, although he already knew Goku wasn’t going to change his mind “Then it’s decided.” He turned to Gojyo. “Start making preparations for our departure. We’ll need weapons, supplies for the trip across the Waste. And we’ll need to organize stable operations here in our absence.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Gojyo grinned.

“Can the cute talk. We’re rebels, not pirates. Start work immediately on overhauling our best hovercraft. Until we pick up the Maten, we’ll need transportation that can stand up to conditions outside. I refuse to end up like Jikaku did.”

“Um, guys, about that,” interrupted Goku. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Someone outside.”

*******

The four of them stood outside on the Waste just beyond the walls, the greenish yellow sand pattering against their protective gear, their voices muffled by their breathing masks as they spoke.

Gojyo peered out into the haze as he stepped up beside Goku. “So, who exactly are we gonna meet out here? Your little cockroach friends?”

Goku’s face scrunched up behind his mask. “Shut up! They’re food, not friends. Not that I’d eat you, you raunchy red roach.”

“I wouldn’t want you to, you stupid ape!”

Sanzo felt a headache coming on and he shoved the two noisemakers down the slight incline on which they stood. “Shut up, the both of you, unless you want to die out here and feed the worms and roaches with your rotting corpses!”

“Now, now, Sanzo. I’m not sure they would appreciate the taste.”

“Hey, whose side are you on, Hakk—woah!” Gojyo’s arms flailed out as he caught himself from stumbling even further down the incline.

The wind whipped their cloaks and coats up around them, stirring up a harsh flurry of sand.

Goku moved a few meters ahead, stopped, and whistled into the wind. As they watched, something approached in the hazy skies, small, birdlike, silvery wings stretched wide as it soared towards them. As it got closer, Goku laughed and ran to meet it, and the creature cried out in obvious delight.

“Kyuu! Kyu-kyu-kyu-kyuuuu!”

There appeared a tiny, cat-sized dragon, its pure white body standing out against the backdrop of a filthy sky. The creature landed on Goku’s shoulder and began to gently butt its sleek little head against the side of his hood as he tickled it behind the ears.

“Guys, this is—”

“Hakuryuu!” Interrupted Hakkai, stepping towards the dragon with his arm outstretched.

“Wait, you know each other?” Goku said, as the tiny reptile squealed again and flapped lightly over to perch on Hakkai’s arm, greeting him with friendly nuzzles and happy squeaks.

“Yes. When we were stationed at Nagnahc, I ran into him in the hills after…” He paused, a smile like the deadly release of a guillotine briefly darkening the mood. He didn’t need to mention the scandalous tragedy out loud. “He helped me survive, as he must have assisted you, Goku.”

Goku nodded. “Right. He may be small, but I made it safely across the Waste thanks to him. Watch this!” Goku turned to the dragon, who was busy twining his long neck around Hakkai’s head. “So you've got a name, huh? Okay, Hakuryuu. Transform into a really cool hovercraft!”

“Kyuuu!” The dragon pushed off into the air and did a flip followed by an audible POOF and suddenly, a large, shiny green hovercraft plopped down onto the sand right there in front of them and the dragon was nowhere to be seen.

“No way, man! This thing is the dragon?” Gojyo ran his gloved hand over the surface of the craft as he circled it, checking it out from every angle with his keen mechanic’s eye.

“Yep. Pretty cool, huh? And it was him who helped me get into Burial, too. Piece of cake!”

Hakuryuu demonstrated the technique by hovering effortlessly up into the air, much higher than any normal hovercraft was designed to do. Then, with another poof, the dragon was back, flapping his wings to bring him gently back to rest upon Hakkai’s shoulder.

“So, the dragons are not completely extinct, as is commonly thought.” Sanzo, eyed the small creature with interest. “Transformative power… I had a hell of a time retrieving you after the incident, Hakkai. When you returned, you began to make ‘transformations’ of your own. I take it you were inspired.”

“Yes.” Hakkai stroked the dragon with obvious affection. “Dragons were once known to congregate at Nagnahc, which is why they were considered sacred animals. When I watched him swallowing grit from the Golden Ground, the idea occurred to me. So I decided to experiment. I surgically inserted one of the larger golden pebbles, and it had the rather interesting effect of enabling me to replicate, to a degree, some of the ‘magic’ capabilities of the Youkai themselves. Although, I’m afraid it does take its toll on me if I’m not careful. To be honest, I am uncertain what, if any, long term effects there may be on my body.” He placed a hand over his abdomen as if both to shelter and accuse the object within.

“Yeah, ‘nothing but benefit’ my foot,” Sanzo muttered, and Hakkai’s smile sharpened again.

Gojyo raised his hand. “I still got questions. So how come the Youkaians weren’t all doing that already? Couldn’t they double their power? Maybe they could’ve whipped human butt a long time ago.”

“Could be related to the taboos,” Sanzo said. “As Hakkai said, the long-term results are unknown. Perhaps the legends are true, or perhaps it was simply as the saying goes, that absolute power corrupts absolutely, and the taboos are merely in place to prevent an imbalance of power. However, HEAVEN’s ill-conceived projects have proved that there is considerable danger involved. What Hakkai is doing could be considered a ‘reckless endangerment of the self’.”

“Yeah,” added Goku. “Plus who even thinks about sticking rocks inside their body? That’s just weird.” He glanced at Hakkai and winced, ducking his head in apology.

A gust of wind whipped up around them, threatening to interrupt their little gathering.

“So by combining youkai magic with technology inside his own body, that means Hakkai’s like Sanzo and the Maten, right?” Goku asked, peered up into Hakkai’s visor curiously, as if trying to see into the inner working of his experiment.

“Not exactly,” answered Hakkai. “In Sanzo’s case, the ship is integrated with his entire being, and his being also is part of the Maten, hence they cannot be separated without lose of life. My own augmentations are merely implants and enhancements. They could be removed, although I’d be short an arm and a hand.” He emphasized his words by covering his artificial eye with his modified hand.

“Hn,” Sanzo cast a disapproving eye over him from head to toe. “And a good helping of ‘I told you so’ would be well deserved.”

“Ahaha. Indeed. Not that I need advice on bodily management from you, of all people.”

Sanzo knew he had walked right into that one, but he treated Hakkai to a cutting glare that glinted off the fine edge of Hakkai’s smile.

Hakuryuu flew happily from Hakkai to Goku, and Sanzo curiously reached out to rub a knuckle over its tiny head. The creature hissed, and he drew his hand away as it snapped at him with needle-sharp teeth. He glared at the spitting thing as it retreated to the safety of Hakkai’s shoulder.

“Oh,” said Hakkai. “Your gloves, Sanzo. You’re wearing dragon skins. Of course he finds you rather offensive.” Hakkai soothed down the raised bristles on Hakuryuu’s back as he spoke.

“Fine. It’s not like I killed them. They were dead when I found them, killed for sport by human soldiers. Why let the skins go to waste? They were the first and last dragons I’d ever seen… until today.” Unfortunately, he had been too late to save them. He studied the little dragon again from a safe distance as it eyed him with wary red eyes. “Feh, this one’s so puny in comparison, wouldn’t even make one glove, let alone a pair. Useless.”

“Kyuuu!” The dragon flapped its wings, resuming its angry tirade of hissing and spitting.

“Sanzo, please don’t aggravate him any further,” Hakkai tsked, fussing over the creature again.

“Anyway,” said Gojyo, “That dragon-craft is solid as fuck. As long as he can stay transformed long enough, we can use his help, for sure. Transportation won’t be a problem.” He gave the dragon a thumbs up, and it flicked its little ears in response.

“Good,” said Sanzo over his shoulder, already starting to walk back towards Burial. “But only until we pick up the Maten, I’m not riding in a flying rat for any longer than necessary. Not that the tin can is much better.”

“At this rate, you’ll be lucky if he lets you ride with us at all,” said Gojyo.

Sanzo chose to ignore the remark. He had enough to process with Goku's sudden return. Right now, the idea of the danger ahead and anything else were only secondary blips on his mind.

Together, the group, now five in number, returned to the shelter of Burial to begin the preparations for a journey West.


	5. Chapter 5

**Dusted**

**Chapter 5**  
  


The morning after Goku’s surprise arrival, Sanzo awoke with a splitting headache. He’d retired early and spent a couple of hours alone in his room binging on drink and drug and still lay sprawled out naked on the bed where he’d finally passed out thoroughly wasted. He stretched stiff, crampy muscles and groaned as he sat up, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples to dull the pain threatening to crack his skull in two as the after effects of last night’s solitary overindulgence came back to bite him in the ass with a vengeance. Cracking open one eye, he squinted across the room towards the bathroom. So close, yet so far away. The tap was desperately screaming his name, and he heaved himself to his feet and sluggishly made his way to the sink. Filling his cupped hands with cool water, he sucked up several rejuvenating mouthfuls and gratefully swallowed them down to ease the violent thirst raging in a dry and scratchy throat.

He glared with reproach at his bleary-eyed reflection in the mirror. It was another shitty day just like any other. Except that it _wasn’t_. He splashed water over his face, the brisk chill smacking against weary eyelids. Goku was back, alive and well, and Sanzo knew he had every right to be happy about it. Except that he _wasn’t_. He’d been consumed by grief, and now suddenly it had been lifted from his shoulders, turned inside out and shoved awkwardly into his arms, and he had no idea what to do with it. How do you throw away something so heavy that you can barely lift your arms under the weight? With nothing left to feed on, the sense of loss twisted in on itself with a hollow expectation that he wasn't sure how to fill. So, Goku had come waltzing back into his life out of the blue, bringing with him huge, lofty goals of saving the whole damn world when all this time Sanzo had been digging himself deeper and deeper into a pit of his own making. Was that what this was? Some sort of lowly, lingering self-pity? Disgusted with himself, Sanzo spit into the sink with all the ferocity of a venomous snake snapping at its own tail.

Plans for the immediate future had already shifted into forward gear, and for that he was thankful. If Goku had suddenly plopped into his lap and then nothing else had changed, it was hard to imagine how that would even work, trapped together in this underground hideout, just waiting for the walls to come tumbling down around them while suffocating in his own unrest.

Burial had a strict water rationing and filtering system in place, eliminating any possibility of a long, hot soak, but he stepped into the cramped shower stall and hit the switch, dispensing a limited burst of lukewarm water that sluiced through his hair and ran down his back to drain at his feet. He lathered up with soap from head to toe, taking his time with a daily hygiene ritual that had the benefit of letting him feel just a little bit cleaner on the inside as the mundane task helped clear his head. He scrubbed hard at his skin with rhythmic strokes of the sponge, taking his time in a routine both thorough and meditative, if not particularly gentle or luxurious. Satisfied that he was squeaky clean, he hit the rinse switch, using the longer burst of water to clear away the film of suds and leave his skin flushed and smelling of an artificially fresh spring breeze.

He grabbed a small towel and quickly dried off before flipping it around his shoulders and sitting naked at the desk. It felt good to have nothing but air against his skin, nothing to interfere with the Maten’s hypersensitive aura. Buzzing with overeager anticipation, he opened the drawer. Goku or no Goku, ready to save the world or not, he still had a nasty habit to feed, and it wouldn't take no for an answer.

***

Normally his morning routine kept him in his quarters until the initial effects of the drug evened out. Normally he would skip breakfast. But this was no normal morning. The drug soothed and smoothed over the tangled knot of confused and conflicting emotions, punched a hole through his inhibitions and coated his reservations with a warm, fuzzy, honey-sweet exhilaration that led him to get dressed early and wander out into the corridor. For the first time since the beginning of his monotone life in Burial, Goku’s voice and laughter bubbled up out of the living area and echoed down the hall, and the sound drew him to the table like a starving bee to a garden in full bloom.

“Sanzo! Morning!” Goku called out cheerfully as soon as Sanzo entered the room and he returned the greeting with a languid wave of his hand. He quietly settled himself at the table across from Goku, the drug still feeding him pure pleasure and sending waves of chemically enhanced well-being surging through his brain. He barely registered Hakkai and Gojyo’s dirty looks, shrugging them aside with casual disinterest. He rested his chin on his hands and watched, fixated, as Goku simply ate his breakfast. A feeling as light as air floated up effortlessly and popped in his chest, flooding his whole being with a nameless happiness more vast and weightless than anything he had ever known. So, was this what he was supposed to be feeling? Whether it was real or drug-induced, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

Hakkai dished out a plate of food and set it in front of him, but he automatically pushed it aside. The odour made him nauseous and he knew that a single bite would make him puke his guts out when he was high. He simply sat and gazed at Goku with an intense, devotional focus, letting everything from the sound of Goku’s voice, to his smile, and the easy, relaxed way he moved as he ate and talked, blend into a multicoloured cocktail of bliss.

Goku looked back at him from across the table, and when their eyes met, it felt like fireworks.

“Sanzo, you okay?” Goku asked, and the sound of those simple words, of his name spoken aloud in the voice that he hadn't realized he had missed so much, doused the fireworks with a spectacular waterfall of euphoric joy, and the resulting fizzy, bubbly cascade did something oddly pleasant to the corners of his mouth.

Gojyo kicked Sanzo’s leg under the table, hard.

Sanzo blinked and turned distractedly away from the object of his admiration to peer at his attacker. Gojyo’s eyes were kind of pretty, but not nearly as pretty as Goku’s, and he happily turned his attention back to where it belonged.

Gojyo rolled his eyes, drained his mug and stood up to grab Sanzo by the arm. “Sorry, Goku, but we gotta get to work now. Lots to do, okay? Later! Cheerio! Bye-bye!”

“Hey,” said Sanzo, turning back to gaze at Goku as Gojyo led him away. “I was in the middle of—” An elbow jammed into his side as he was pulled out the door. “Ow.”

“For crying out loud, Sanzo,” Gojyo hissed once they were out of earshot. “You trying to freak the poor monkey out, or what? He’s gonna think you’re nuts, unless you feel like explaining to him that you’re fuckin’ high outta your mind, ‘cause that’s not a conversation I wanna have right now. Shit, I’m not even letting you go out like this. You need a serious time out, man. Time out!” He dragged Sanzo to his room, shoved him inside, and slammed the door.

***

The rest of the morning and afternoon were spent wading through the tedium of administrative duties, security, personnel, and supply issues, etc., etc., ad nauseam until Sanzo could finally catch a break. Meanwhile, Goku had been spirited away by Hakkai for blood sampling as they worked to determine the possibility of formulating a cure for the virus, and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the monkey at all since breakfast. After three years, Goku’s sudden ‘resurrection’ was both surreal and yet so real that the very air felt raw and imbued with his presence. He curbed the urge to go looking for Goku, and instead followed his typical routine and retreated to his room to chase a different kind of urge altogether. Goku was busy, focused on the mission ahead, and they would see each other at dinner anyway. No need to make a fuss. In any case, his little faux pas at breakfast had been bad enough, he didn’t need to make a fool of himself by following Goku around like some kind of lost puppy.

He dumped his gear, plopped his gun down on the bed and made himself comfortable, tossing his boots in the general direction of the nearest wall. Switching his air filter on high, he took a moment to lean against the wall and savour a cigarette, letting tension dissipate along with the smoke as it swirled up and out the vent. Eventually the cigarette no longer satisfied as a more powerful craving grew ever more insistent and finally urged him to stub out the stick.

Moving to a small cabinet, he pulled out a half-full bottle of smoky orange liquid and unscrewed the cap. Pinching his nose to mute the overwhelmingly acrid, pungent taste and smell of the beverage, he tipped back the bottle and savoured the burn as it slid smoothly down his throat. Fermented fireseed, a favourite Youkaian alcoholic brew. If his mood called for a little something extra in the afternoons, a few sips added a nice little kick that hit the spot right on target.

Now came the main attraction, the central ingredient that made everything else pale in comparison. The familiar thrill quickened his pulse as he sat and dished out his afternoon fix, arranging neat little lines of powder on the smooth metal surface of the desk. For starters, he put a tiny dab of dust on his tongue and closed his eyes as it numbed his mouth with its arsenal of chemical potency. He thought of Goku, so close, and a stab of misgiving gave him pause. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t need it anymore. Should push is aside and focus on the mission at Goku’s side.

_Fuck it. Once more won’t hurt._

He lowered his head to the table, his hair falling softly forward as he stuck the straw up his nose, pinched the other nostril and snorted up the first line.

He should be fighting this, should listen to Gojyo and Hakkai’s advice, but admitting he had a problem was hard enough. He didn’t need help. He could take care of himself. Like right now, taking care of his needs was no problem at all. The only problem was doing a better job of keeping it under wraps.

He dipped his head again, took the entire second line in one practiced hit. “Oh, shit.” He caught his breath as a shiver ran through his entire body like a cleansing wave that chased his worries away.

What would Goku think of him if he could see him now?

The third and fourth hits, taken in quick succession, punched hard, knocking out the nagging thoughts in his head. A drop of blood fell to the desk and spattered against the dull surface. He groaned softly, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Why had he been worrying so much a minute ago? It didn’t matter and he didn't care.

He leaned in again and was in the middle of doing the fifth line, when there was a knock at the door and Goku stepped inside. “Hey, Sanzo, are you on break now? I thought—”

Sanzo looked up, his eyes unfocused and the raw evidence spread out all over the desk in front of him. Their eyes met.

The moment seemed to freeze in time, like a layer of fragile, crystalline ice distilling every sordid detail in a cold clarity, and the only heat left was coursing through his veins at break-neck speed. Goku backed away and quietly shut the door behind him on his way out. And the ice shattered into a million technicolored fragments in Sanzo’s head.

***

Sanzo slipped into the messroom where Goku was seated at the table and leaned against the wall, tapping out a stale cigarette from a badly crumpled pack.

“Hey.” Goku’s normally bright, copper-tone voice sounded unusually flat as he glanced up at Sanzo briefly before resuming his task. The table in front of him was covered in miscellaneous travel supplies and survival gear, and he was checking through a list as he packed things up. Among the emergency items, like water purification tablets and the first aid kit, were simpler objects such as toiletries and eating utensils. Banal, everyday things that would be sorely missed if absent. Strange, Sanzo thought, how people get so used to having those things—things they need, things they want, things they love. How they take them for granted until one day, poof, they're gone forever. And second chances come around only so very rarely, surely they should be grasped with both hands instead of wasted away on stubborn stupidity.

Sanzo stood and watched Goku work for a couple of minutes, absently rolling the cigarette between his fingers. It was an Earth import. Almost as rare as a second chance. His sniffed softly, his nasal passages still feeling a little raw and runny, the usual post-nasal drip tickling the back of his throat. Real classy. Perhaps it had been a good thing that Goku had walked in when he did. He’d been overdoing it, seeking that peak before the point of no return, and that hadn’t even been his intent when he’d begun. It was like the drug had a mind of its own, sometimes. But still…

“You weren’t supposed to see that.” He looked down at the cigarette in his hand.

Goku shoved a parcel into a duffel bag, yanked the zipper shut, and scratched another item off the list with short, sharp swipes of his pen. “Yeah, well, I did. And now I can’t un-see it, can I? I’m kinda busy right now, so…” Without looking up, he began to wrap up another bundle of gear.

Sanzo looked away, crushing the coveted cigarette. What had he sought Goku out for, anyway? To apologize? To seek forgiveness? Some sort of acceptance or understanding? What use were any of those things? It wasn’t like he even wanted to talk about it at all. What was the point? It wasn’t Goku’s problem. He pushed away from the wall and walked towards the exit.

“Hey!” Goku called after him, the sound of furniture being shoved aside telling Sanzo that he had abruptly stood. Sanzo stopped without turning around.

“It’s okay,” Goku continued in a rush. “Well, no, it’s _not_ okay, but what I mean is, I would’ve found out at some point anyway, right? I could tell something was wrong. You’ve lost weight and you look really tired. I thought maybe you were just… I dunno. Sad?”

Sanzo felt his chest tighten as he listened.

“All this time I was stuck in that frickin’ tower, I stupidly thought you were waiting for me out here, maybe wondering where I was, maybe trying to find me. But you thought I was dead? That sucks. It really hurt when I found that out. I never had parents, but if I lost both my father and my—and _you_ on the same day, I’d be sad too. I get it.”

Goku’s voice grew closer as he spoke, and Sanzo could feel his presence, not an invasion or an intrusion of his personal space, but more like a gentle wave lapping against a jagged shore.

“Is that why you’re into that stuff, Sanzo? To make you feel better? I can’t bring your dad back, but I’m here. And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.” There was a pause and the sound of Goku stepping closer. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He sensed the contact was coming before he felt it physically, just Goku’s hand against the back of his shoulder, but still it touched him in places inside that he didn’t expect. All this time that he had been wallowing in his weaknesses, hadn’t there been some small part of himself that had doubted Goku’s death, but had refused to face up to that reality? Of the thought that perhaps Goku had simply chosen to leave all trace of captivity behind and eek out a place for himself in his home-world, away from interfering human hands. He turned his head, just enough to see Goku out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe it would be easier if you had died.”

“What?” Goku asked, his hand dropping away.

“You heard me,” Sanzo said, deliberately splashing ice over his words. “It would be easier if you were _dead_.” He sucked in a breath. “You said you were busy, so get back to work.”

As Sanzo walked away, deliberately leaving Goku standing there behind him, it felt like giving in to the inexplicable urge to throw your treasures off the side of a bridge only to watch them be taken by the sweeping current below.

He didn't bother to look back.

*******

Sanzo didn’t even understand what was going on inside his own head. Maybe his brain was more drug addled than he thought. Probably he was just an idiot. Likely both. He tried to avoid Goku, which made no kind of sense after three long years of grieving his absence. And he made sure to lock his damn door. They would be leaving Burial soon, travelling together in a small, enclosed space for a good length of time and depending on each other to make it through alive. He still hadn’t figured out how exactly that was going to work. Maybe this trip was a bad idea, nothing but a disaster waiting to happen.

His supply was running low again. Luckily, his position allowed him access to resources. He figured that pilfering a few things on the sly to use as payment to feed his habit was a small crime in the grand scheme of things, but he’d gotten good at making excuses.

Sanzo slipped out into the main, public districts of Burial before sleep mode and curfew kicked in for the night. Underground Sector Ten, know for its less than classy entertainment district. The flavour of Burial was, in general, rough and gritty. There were no five-star establishments here, and luxuries were few and far between. But there were certain pockets where illicit activities were more likely to be found, all-night parties that would start before curfew and end when the lights came on, filled with hopeless souls just starving for a little bit of mindless pleasure to temporarily fill the hollow spaces in their hearts and bring some small comfort to a harsh existence.

Concealing his face in the usual way with mask and hood, he made his way into one of the most questionable of these dives, passing by a door guard who eyed him suspiciously as he entered. Many of the patrons here were likewise anonymous, some wearing full gas masks and covered head to toe, and others draped in hoods and veils to a greater or lesser extend of coverage. It was still early. No deals would be going down until the night lights went on. His game plan was to make his transaction and then find a quiet space somewhere where he could watch his back and wait out the rest of the night, alone. He had no intentions of indulging himself in public, and that rule had only been reinforced tenfold after his encounter at Yakumo’s. If that incident had taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t trust himself, let alone anyone else.

The venue was small to the point of being uncomfortably cramped, but it had attracted a good turnout tonight. The dance floor was already in full swing, bodies grinding and twining together. He pushed his way through the unsavory crowd, making his way around the edge of the floor towards the bar where he snagged a seat at the end of the counter and ordered himself a drink which he refused to touch, letting it sit in front of him just for show.

He settled in to wait out a long, slow drag of a night. Leaning against the bar counter, he kept a close, surreptitious eye on the crowd as the rough, sinewy beat of the music threatened to throttle the room with an oddly off-putting, circuitous rhythm. Since the space wasn’t large, it wasn’t long before his attention was drawn to a commotion in a corner of the dance floor. A small knot of people had gathered close together, surrounding a lone dancer in their midst. The dancer seemed to be in his element, and he was putting on quite the show, swaying to the beat as though it were an extension of his body. Normally, Sanzo wouldn’t be interested. He came here for one thing and one thing only. But there was something about this dancer’s build and the way that he moved that made him look twice.

_Goku._

Sanzo pushed away from the bar. _Shit._ He re-entered the crowd, trying to make his way over as inconspicuously as possible. It was a slow process, weaving in and out of the path of dancers swaying around him while futilely trying not to touch or be touched. The Maten’s aura extended around him, helping him to dodge wandering hands, but in the tight space, it was impossible to avoid brushing against the bodies around him. By the time he finally reached Goku, he was just about at his limit. His eyes glowed a little dangerously behind his shades, power shifting beneath his skin. He ground his teeth and pushed through the final barrier of people between himself and his target, and reached out and grabbed Goku, spinning him around so they were face to face.

“Sanzo!” Goku was only wearing a pair of shades and no mask, his face loosely concealed by the hood of his cloak.

Sanzo pulled Goku close, hissing in his ear. “ _Shut up_ , you idiot.”

Goku’s little circle of spectators were already falling out of formation around them, the audience dissipating as people realized that the dancer who had caught their attention with his energy and natural flair had just been snapped up from right under their noses and they would now need to find other sources of amusement.

Keeping Goku close, Sanzo began to maneuver towards the edge of the small dance floor. He leaned in close to Goku’s ear. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

Someone bumped into them from behind, and Sanzo tightened his grip on Goku’s arm as they were jostled even closer together. “You followed me.”

Goku shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

Sanzo pulled Goku quickly to one side to avoid a gyrating couple, the warmth of Goku’s body pressing against him. “Moron, do you want people to find out who we are? This place is crawling with lowlifes who’d jump at the chance to turn me in to HEAVEN. Others would love to see me dead, or worse. And you, you complete imbecile, you think they aren’t looking for you, too? If anyone finds out you’re here, there will instantly be a price on your head so high it’d make you dizzy.”

“Yeah? I’m not afraid of heights,” Goku snapped back, brassy and bold. “Guess you aren’t, either, huh? Maybe you need to get your feet back down on the ground.”

Goku’s clear eyes burned into his. For a moment, Sanzo forgot that they were supposed to be moving. The anger that he saw in those eyes was an oddly cleansing fire.

There was little room to escape from the wandering hand of a stranger as it swept across his hip and momentarily tried to pry the two of them apart. “Hey, now, boys,” an androgynous voice coated with artificial saccharin dripped next to his ear. “If you two ain’t gonna dance, then how about you clear the floor, hmmm? There’re _rooms_ , if that’s what you’re here for.”

Sanzo pulled Goku away from the intrusion. “Come on. If we don’t get out before curfew, we’ll be stuck here all night.” He couldn’t think of anything that would be more awkward. “Don’t attract attention. Move with me to the exit. Dance. Just keep moving.”

Goku titled his head, considering. The corners of his mouth turned up impishly and he suddenly seemed to melt against Sanzo’s body, closing the remaining gap between them. “Okay.” He bumped his hips up against Sanzo, his arms stretching up to wind around his neck and shoulders.

Sanzo froze for a moment. This… wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. He took a step, and Goku moved with him. Goku stood on tip toe and tilted his head up towards Sanzo’s chin. “Hey, you said dance, remember? You better keep movin’ or you’re gonna be the one attracting attention. Come on.”

It almost sounded like a challenge. Or an invitation. Maybe it was. Sanzo had been avoiding Goku for the past three days, and now there wasn’t even an inch to spare between them. Sanzo suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. He settled on letting them rest on Goku’s shoulders. Goku didn’t seem to notice any awkwardness, and if he did he didn’t let it bother him, he just kept gently bumping their bodies together, the steady motion eventually coaxing Sanzo along into some sort of rhythm that matched the beat of the music. It made it easier to keep moving across the floor if he didn’t try to fight it, blending in with the crowd made much smoother by responding to Goku’s movements with those of his own.

“Yeah, that’s better,” Goku said, rubbing up against him again. “Just relax.”

The simple encouragement coupled with the feel of Goku pressing boldly against him triggered an unfamiliar and unexpectedly gratifying thrill that jolted his entire being with an electric buzz and it made him want to try harder, just so he’d feel it again. His initial awkward uncertainty gradually eased away and was replaced with a different kind of tension, the hyper-awareness of Goku’s proximity, his touch and warmth, the naked line of his throat. His hands slid down to Goku’s waist and settled there, his fingers pressing into the trim, compact body beneath the loose fabric of his shirt.

Goku’s hands smoothed down Sanzo’s shoulders, gripping tight as he ground his hip into Sanzo’s leg. The beat changed, still a deep, steady pulse, and Goku adjusted his rhythm, urging Sanzo along. “That’s good. Just like that. Follow me.”

Sanzo’s breath caught. He was surprised at just how much this was affecting him. His aura had completely enveloped Goku, welcomed him within its protective bubble. Perhaps being stuck here all night wouldn’t be such a bad thing, after all.

The lights went out as the song ended, and the room descended into a moment of silent darkness. A second later, the music exploded into a new beat louder than before and a series of bright strobe lights flashed from the perimeter, the beams catching Sanzo off guard as they swept across the room. He winced and turned his head, but not in time to escape a momentary light blindness, not only of sight, but of awareness and power. For that moment, the Maten’s defenses faltered and his aura flickered with static, leaving him vulnerable to the darkness on all sides. With Goku in his arms and drunk on a sudden taste of unguarded, reckless danger, caught in this transient moment like a hallucination within a dream, he closed his eyes and dug his fingers into the muscle and bone of Goku’s hips as he pulled him close.

All too soon, the dance floor ended. Goku caught his hand in his as they left the floor and together they slipped through the door into the corridor. The alert tone warning of the impending change in the lighting sounded off, and Sanzo shook his hand free.

“That was fun.” Goku’s eyes sparkled, but his playful grin faded into quizzical realization. “But you didn’t get what you came for. Did you?”

Sanzo frowned. “…No.” He started walking a little faster, but Goku easily kept pace at his side.

“Is that okay? Will you get sick or something if you don’t take it?”

“It’s fine. I have something in reserve. I’ll manage.”

“Yeah, you will. ‘Cause guess what?”

Sanzo had a bad feeling about this. “What?”

“Well, I’ll be working with Hakkai to try and crack this virus thing, right? So, while I’m lending my body to science for a good cause, you’ll be spending the time off duty and getting clean.”

Sanzo stopped in his tracks. So Goku had only been back for a few days and he was already insinuating himself into his life, imposing little by little, pushing as deep as he could get away with. A part of Sanzo wanted to push back, to resist, and part wanted to see just how far Goku would get if he let him have his way. He whirled on Goku and shoved him, pinning him against the wall. “Don’t interfere in my personal affairs.”

“I’m not. Your business is my business too. Right?” Despite Sanzo’s aggression, Goku remained soft both in voice and body.

Sanzo’s eyes went cold. “What gives you the right to make that claim? You’ve been gone for three fucking years. I’ve done just fine without you.”

Goku’s face faltered for a moment, but he continued undeterred. “Really? You don’t seem fine to me. I’ve talked to Hakkai and Gojyo. They’re gonna help. Trust me. It’ll all work out. We’ll figure it out.” He reached out and rested a hand lightly on Sanzo’s arm. “Just like on the dance floor. If we work together, we can do it.”

Goku sounded so sure and Sanzo wanted to believe. Goku was casting a lifeline and all he had to do was grab the end of the rope. He relaxed his hold on Goku and let his hands drop away. “Fuck. Then we’d better start tonight. Otherwise we both know what I’m going to do.”

Goku smiled and nodded as he gave Sanzo’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Okay. So here’s how it’s gonna play out. Gimme your room key code. Then as soon as we get back, you head straight to medical. I’ll tell the others and Hakkai’ll meet you there, if he’s not there already.”

“My room?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m gonna search your stuff and get rid of anything in there that you’re not supposed to have.”

After years of absence, what gave Goku the right to interfere? What gave him the right to care so damn much? Sanzo huffed a bitter laugh. “Forget it. I—” Sanzo opened his mouth to argue, to change his mind, to tell Goku off, probably all three.

But Goku wasn’t having it. “Shut up!” His grip on Sanzo’s arm tightened nearly enough to bruise as he pulled Sanzo close. “I know what you’re gonna say and I don’t wanna hear it. You already agreed and I’m dead serious about this. So let’s go.” He started to tow Sanzo down the corridor and Sanzo tried to shake him off, but Goku’s grip was strong and unrelenting. “Are you tryin’ to make a scene in public now? When we get back you can cry all you want, but we gotta get back, first.”

Outrage and humiliation heated Sanzo’s cheeks and blazed in his eyes until they began to glow with a threatening light. “Let go of me, or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what? Kill me? You did say you wished I was dead.” Goku didn’t back down so much as an inch, no fear in his eyes and no flinch in his resolve. Sanzo's threat was as empty as air.

A couple of strangers rounded the corner ahead, moving in their direction, and Sanzo ducked his head, willing his temper to cool. Goku linked their arms together and started walking nonchalantly down the corridor until they turned out of sight. Only then did he loosen his grip and allow Sanzo to shake him off. He looked at Sanzo again and smiled, gentler now but with no apology. “I just wanna help. Okay?”

Sanzo took a deep breath, counted to five and forced himself to relax, but his cheeks still burned with hot affront that had only himself to blame. “Let’s go.” He led the way, moving briskly to put an end to this walk of shame as soon as possible. He led the way, but he no longer felt in control.

*******

Even as his dependence deepened and spiralled out of control, Sanzo had always thought that he’d be able to quit whenever he wanted, that it was a matter of will power alone. He refused to admit that eventually it was the drug that controlled him, and not the other way around. Now that things had come to a head, he was forced to face the truth head-on and evaluate the ugly facts. He paced the floor in the treatment area as he awaited Hakkai’s arrival. He eyed the door longingly, considering his options. He could easily walk out of this intervention right now, take off and find someplace else to spend the night, but then what? There was nowhere else to go and once he’d agreed to a decision and made up his mind about something that fundamentally _made good sense_ , it’d be demonstrative of a foolish lack of backbone and resolve to give up without a fight.

He forced himself to stand still and take inventory of his own body, of this restless mess of tension clamouring with the need to be fed with ever increasing doses of drug, stuck in the endless cycle of craving, withdrawal, and temporary relief. This endless appetite demanded his attention like a ravenous demon that would never, ever be satisfied until he was so wasted that there was nothing left to feed. He almost couldn’t remember what ‘normal’ felt like. If he walked out now, it wouldn’t be himself making that decision, because his body no longer belonged to him. It had become a vessel that existed only to serve his addiction. If he intended to regain control, then he needed to stay put, wrestle this beast and let it know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to let it take him. He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, focusing on one slow breath at a time.

A short while later, Hakkai breezed into the room. “Oh, good, you’re here. I was afraid you might change your mind.” He did a good job of concealing it behind a smooth facade, but Sanzo knew him well enough to detect a slight ruffling around the edges. No doubt he’d jumped out of bed or dropped whatever he had been doing to rush down here, fully expecting to have to prevent an escape attempt by an uncooperative patient.

“I considered it.” Sanzo answered honestly. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that this is where I need to be.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Hakkai closed the door and gestured towards the cot. “As you know, I’m already very busy developing the cure, but I am relieved that you’ve agreed to go through with a proper detoxification. It is necessary and, quite frankly, about time.” He passed Sanzo a clean pair of comfortable pajama bottoms and a hospital gown, along with a brittle smile. “However, I don’t have the time to coddle a difficult patient. Understood?”

Sanzo knew that tone and it wasn’t pretty. He rolled his eyes and pushed away from the counter. “Whatever. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement. Please get changed and we’ll begin treatment immediately. You’ll be here a while so you’ll want to make yourself comfortable.”

Sanzo had a feeling it was going to be a long, rough night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Dusted**

**Chapter 6**

Correction: it was going to be a long, miserable _week_.

The extremely addictive nature of dust, Hakkai’s inexperience in dealing with such cases, and the unpredictable and undocumented mechanisms of action of the drug on human biology made it a trying time for all of them. In a cautious attempt to go easy on Sanzo’s body, Hakkai opted to allow smaller and smaller doses, injected intravenously at strict intervals and buffered with medications to keep the withdrawal symptoms to a minimum.

Burial’s main medical ward was situated elsewhere in the complex and consisted of a larger facility than the minimal little clinic that Hakkai had at his disposal in main headquarters. He had one tiny partitioned space for private treatment and recovery and an isolation/quarantine suite, but other than that the only other bed was the cot in the main treatment room.

Sanzo spent the first night in the partition, and awoke feeling disoriented, groggy, ill, and desperately craving a proper fix. The lights were still out in his little alcove, but a brighter glow from the main room shone through the cracks in the curtain, providing enough illumination to see his minimal surroundings. He sat up and rested his bare feet against the floor for a moment to get his bearings, and then stood and twitched the curtains open. Hakkai was there, sitting at the counter and peering through his microscope, and Sanzo had to wonder how much sleep he had managed to get, if any. He pushed the thought away, refused to allow free reign to any wandering sense of guilt. He had never asked for Hakkai’s time.

Hakkai lifted his head and turned in his chair. “Good morning, Sanzo. How do you feel?”

Sanzo frowned, blinking against the brighter lights as they glared like laser beams right into his aching head. “Like shit.” It was a sincere self-assessment.

“Ahh, that’s to be expected. We’ll take it slow to be safe, but I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.” Hakkai picked up a syringe that he had already prepared and walked over. “I’ll give you your next dose now.”

“Thank fuck.” Sanzo sat on the bed and watched intently as Hakkai administered the drug through the IV line. It lacked the satisfaction of physically imbibing and he missed he familiarity of his usual routine, but at least the drug was still getting to where it needed to be and it was admittedly a lot neater and more efficient than his normal method. It just wasn’t _enough_.

Goku came wandering into the clinic in his pajamas, yawning hugely as he stretched his arms up over his head. “Morning,” he croaked, his sleep-roughened voice surprisingly chipper. His eyes went wide when he saw the procedure taking place and he slinked cautiously the rest of the way into the room.

“Good morning, Goku. You’re here early.” Hakkai greeted him pleasantly as he worked.

“I was awake anyway, so I thought I’d come see how Sanzo’s doing.”

Sanzo frowned, self-conscious agitation making him snippy. “Does this look like a zoo? I’m not here for your amusement.”

Goku smiled a little apologetically, and Hakkai finished flushing the drug through the line. Sanzo still wasn’t accustomed to this and hadn’t been geared up for the hit the way he usually was so that it took him by surprise. His lips parted as he caught his breath and his eyes slid shut as he moaned softly. The relief was just too good, and for a moment, he almost forgot that he had an audience. But the moment he opened his eyes, and Goku was staring straight at him just beyond the curtain line, having _this_ audience didn’t seem so bad. Meeting Goku’s eyes, he breathed out slowly as the drug drained all the tension from his body, leaving him loose and relaxed and free.

Goku stepped closer. “Does it feel good?”

Sanzo nodded slowly. All the dirty laundry that he had tried to hide was on full display, fluttering in Goku’s face like a neon flag, and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the naked curiosity in Goku’s unabashed gaze.

“What’s it like?” Goku’s gaze traveled over Sanzo’s body from head to toe, lingering in a presumptuously candid admission of interest, as if he were unconsciously taking liberties with Sanzo’s current state of mind. Sanzo had seen something similar before, from strangers whose leers made his skin crawl, but he wasn’t used to being looked at that way by Goku. It was different, and he found he didn’t hate it.

Distracted almost to the point of incoherence, Sanzo lost track of the question for a long moment until an answer floated into his head. He didn’t know how relevant it was, but somehow it felt like an excuse or, even worse, a lie, sugar coated with dust. “Think about a wish… whatever you want most of all. Now imagine it came true… or maybe you knew it could never come true, but you don’t even give a damn either way ‘cause now you’ve got something ten times better. I guess it feels kind of like that. Only more.”

“Something even better than my wish, huh?” Goku shook his head with a small, smug smile. “Nah. My wishes are the real deal. I wouldn’t trade them for make-believe.” His smile faded. “I guess you did.”

Hakkai stepped between them, grasped the edge of the partitioning curtain and yanked it closed in front of Goku’s face. “Goku,” he said, firm but patient, “Sanzo is in the middle of receiving his treatment. Why don’t you sit down? I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Sanzo heard Goku’s soft agreement on the other side of the curtain, his footsteps as he moved away. He stretched out a hand towards the cloth barrier, his fingers trailing through empty air.

***

Overall, the first day wasn’t a complete disaster. Frequent, small amounts helped to keep the cravings to a minimum, but never knocked them out completely, and the meds helped ease the negative effects of the gradually reduced dosages. Hakkai spent most of the day working in the clinic and Goku was in and out, so that Sanzo was never left completely to his own devices. He knew he was being watched, that they didn’t quite trust him not to walk out and resume his crash course towards self destruction, but he figured that was par for the course.

The waiting between doses was almost the worst part. That, and the tingle under his skin that kept getting more and more intense, itching and biting like a horde of ants crawling and tunneling feverishly into his flesh. This aggravating sensation had been one of the tipping points towards his addiction in the first place, the simple need for some kind of reliable relief before it drove him to the brink of insanity. If they weren’t planning on leaving Burial very soon and reuniting with the Maten, then to hell with the detox, it just wouldn’t work. He rubbed at his bare arms, scratching until his skin was red. He couldn’t sit still anymore, but he couldn’t move very far from the bed unless he wanted to drag the entire IV stand along with him. There was nothing to do except fidget, no distractions from the discomfort and pain, and it just made the urge to tear at own skin even worse.

He stripped off the loose pants, designed to be comfortable but not comfortable enough, and perched on the edge of the bed, just waiting for the next dose as he scratched his arms until the skin eventually broke. Smearing the thin ooze of blood offered some small gratification, and he dug his nails into the shallow wounds, dragging through the damaged skin with a focused intensity that did almost nothing to help distract.

When Hakkai finally swished the curtain aside with needles in hand, he clicked his tongue in disapproval when he saw what Sanzo had done. He left briefly and returned with bandage materials. There were no reprimands or words of reproach, just quiet work as he methodically swabbed down Sanzo’s arms with disinfectant and carefully wiped away all traces of blood. He patched up the scratches and wrapped both arms in a thick layer of gauze bandage. He wrapped Sanzo’s hands in makeshift mittens of padding to prevent further damage, winding the soft gauze in a neatly overlapping pattern. When finished, he inspected his work. “There, that should do it. I’m going to increase the sedative I’ve been giving you. It has analgesic properties which should ease the discomfort and help you relax.”

“The discomfort would be eased if you’d just give me what I need.” Sanzo grumpily struggled to manipulate his wrapped hands around his discarded clothing as he shoved his feet through the legs and pulled the offending garment back up to his waist.

“That would make me a rather careless physician, don’t you think?”

“Careless? You couldn’t even make it through med school before winding up behind bars. Then you had the nerve to go and pull that psycho shit again up here on Youkai.” Sanzo knew he was running off at the mouth but right now Hakkai was a convenient target and he was too pissed off, messed up, and irritable to care.

Hakkai drew his body up straight and stiff, his hands neatly folded in front and a forced smile firmly in place. “Goku,” he called through the curtain, his voice filled with a sickly-sweet patience that was as phony as his smile. “Will you walk Sanzo to Isolation, please?”

Goku pooped his head through the curtain a moment later. “Isolation?” His gaze flicked from Hakkai to Sanzo and back.

“We can’t have our lovely patient going out on a walkabout overnight and we do need to sleep ourselves at some point. I trust that the enclosed and locked space will serve as an adequate deterrent.” He gave Sanzo a sharp, warning look, his smile never faltering.

“Whatever. I don’t need an escort guard.” Sanzo glowered, but he followed Goku on the short walk across the clinic as Goku carefully maneuvered the IV stand. The isolation and quarantine suite amounted to medical prison. If they thought he was going to be that difficult, then he’d just have to prove them wrong. Once he was comfortably set up in his new quarters, Goku closed and locked the door behind him, leaving Sanzo alone behind the transparent walls. He plopped down onto the bed and crossed his wrapped arms stubbornly over his chest, determined to wait out this whole aggravating ordeal.

***

On day two, the situation took a bad, although not unexpected, turn. Sanzo had never felt so wretchedly desperate in his life. Even with the meds to take some of the edge off, the cravings were constant and unbearable and Hakkai was a selfish asshole who would not relent to his demands. His aura was all screwed up, startling him with false reactions and ghostly disturbances that didn’t exist, as if there were shadow people poking at him from all sides at every waking moment.

Sanzo swallowed back intermittent waves of nausea as Hakkai injected the drugs into the line.

“Stingy bastard. You’re not giving me enough. I. Need. More. _Now_.”

“I am giving you just enough to see you through until the next dose. No more and no less. We need to wean you off safely without risking a systemic reaction.”

“Fuck this. I don’t have to put up with this shit.” Ill, irritable, and craving so intensely that he could think of nothing else, Sanzo stood up and deliberately attempted to rip out his IV line in a sudden frenzy of violent frustration. Thwarted by a well-secured wrap, he grabbed the bag of fluids hanging from the stand and ripped the line out of the bag, sending the contents gushing onto the floor. The line dangling from his arm, he lurched past Hakkai towards the exit. A strong, steady grip caught his shoulder. He turned and without thinking raised a glowing hand. Hakkai countered with a raised palm of his own, a pale, yellow light emanating from beneath his skin.

As usual, Hakkai smiled. “Two humans battling it out with Youkaian power. How fascinating, don’t you agree?”

“You think you can overpower me? You’ll burn yourself to hell.”

“Thankfully, we won’t get to find out.”

With his aura malfunctioning, Sanzo didn’t feel Goku’s approach until he received the solid kick to the back of his knee. Before he knew what hit him, his arms were pulled behind his back into a tight restraint as he was brought to his knees. He heard Goku’s voice close to his ear. “Gojyo, the light!”

He caught a glimpse of red hair and an infuriatingly cocky grin as Gojyo sauntered into his line of sight, switching on a high-power flashlight and turning the beam into Sanzo’s eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut in defense against the searing brightness, and the power he had charged up dimmed and faltered. For some yet unknown reason, bright light had the ability to disrupt the link between a Kaigen ship and its captain enough to disrupt a power-up. A secret weakness that only a handful of people knew, and his little crew of companions seemed only too happy to exploit it. He barely felt the needle pinch his arm as Hakkai administered a sedative, and all the resistance drained from his body as he went limp in Goku’s grasp.

Gojyo’s closing remark chased him into the darkness of unconscious sleep. “Lights out, sunshine.”

On day three, Sanzo awoke in arm restraints, the head of the bed having been elevated into an upright position due to the nausea, so that he wouldn't choke on his own vomit if the need to eject should suddenly arise. A fresh IV with a change of bandages had been neatly placed. Fuzzy-headed and heavy-lidded, be felt barely able to think, let alone worry about trying to move. There were bright surgical lights placed on three sides, all glaring directly into his face. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut against the sharp glare, catching a brief glimpse of Goku sitting in a corner of the room with his knees drawn up and his head dropping as he dozed. Had he been there all night? Sanzo had no idea what time it was.

“Hey, monkey.” Sanzo’s voice rasped in his throat. He squinted into the light again and saw Goku shift and lift his head.

“Hey, morning. Sorry about the lights.”

“Turn them off.” He kept his eyes closed as Goku stood.

“Hakkai said he was gonna add somethin’ to the fluids to keep you calm, so if you feel weird, that’s probably why.”

Weird didn’t come close to adequately describing how he felt.

“You’ve been through worse than this, remember? The Maten nearly killed you at first, but you fought it and you didn’t give up, not for a second. And I know you’re gonna make it through this, too. Easy-peasy.”

Sanzo turned his face to the wall. It was too early for a pep talk and the lights were way too damn bright. He only wanted to go back to sleep.

Goku finally stopped talking and switched off the lights. “I’ll let Hakkai know you’re awake.” He buzzed his comm device until Hakkai responded.

As the day wore on, Hakkai mercilessly reduced his dosage until Sanzo became violently ill. He couldn’t stop retching, his stomach heaving up bile until he was physically drained just from the effort. And through it all, whether Sanzo wanted him there or not, Goku was at his side--keeping watch, making sure his aim into the barf bucket was accurate. His familiar voice and presence, until recently thought to be gone forever, bubbled up like a warm tonic and gave Sanzo something to focus on besides how miserable he felt.

And so the week passed in a sometimes awkward, often humiliating and excruciating haze punctuated with welcome spells of sleep and dream-like moments of long-lost golden comfort.

Perhaps it’s never too late for a second chance, after all.

***

On day twelve, Sanzo woke up to a blissfully dark and quiet room. His _own_ room. He’d managed to zonk out for a good few hours and felt much better for it. The hellish past week had been a thoroughly humiliating experience. He felt like a child—watched, confined, and searched. They were all strung out on lack of sleep and exhausted. And whenever Goku wasn’t busy, he had been there, offering encouragement, distraction, and putting up with all of Sanzo's bullshit. Sanzo pressed his face against the pillow to cool a hot flush of belated embarrassment as a cloudy memory—dulled by the heavy fog of sedation and sickness of the past few days—of the sound of Goku’s voice lulling him to sleep, of gentle fingers combing through his hair and smoothing over his back as he shivered, semi-coherent, beneath the comforting touch.

But the struggle seemed to be paying off. He’d graduated from the isolation suite to being shut up in the privacy of his own quarters. He was off IV meds and fluids and had transitioned to an oral sedative to help with sleep and an anti-nausea medication before meals. But the acute illness and constant, intense cravings had passed as the drug had finally left his system, and Hakkai had finally given the all clear to unlock his door and give him free range of headquarters. Liberty, both from dust and detox prison, had been a hard-won victory, but it didn’t feel worthy of celebration just yet. Hakkai had warned him that he would likely be fighting recurrent, intermittent cravings for some time. He was supposed to report them if and when they came, and he had agreed. But apparently, he had lied.

On his first day of freedom post-detox, he crawled out of bed and padded barefoot down the corridor in just his sleep pants, checking the area for any signs of activity as he passed. He went straight to the medical station and he stood in the doorway for a moment, looking left and right. Hakkai was nowhere to be seen. It seemed he hadn’t finished cleaning up from Goku’s last blood draw yet, which was unusual for him. The needles, vials, and gauze still lay scattered over the counter in haphazard disarray.

The cool floor welcomed him without reproach as he stepped across the threshold. He swiped a couple of fresh syringes from a drawer as he passed, and continued on to rifle through the cabinets, slipping a couple of pill bottles along with the syringes into his pocket. He stopped in front of the narcotics cabinet, staring at the lock. It wouldn’t take much to break it open.

“Good morning, Sanzo,” Hakkai arrived quietly and greeted him from just inside the doorway where he stood with his arms crossed, watching his patient carefully. The collar of his lab coat stood awkwardly out of place and his hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in a while. His smile was like a tripwire that Sanzo didn’t care to cross.

“How is the work going?” asked Sanzo.

“It’s too early to say. But it is quite fortunate that we had that run in with the virus here in Burial, as the samples are invaluable now.”

“The child.” Sanzo swallowed past the distaste of the recent memory.

“Yes. Youkaian biological samples are rather volatile and difficult to work with, but if they are frozen or otherwise preserved immediately, then they can still be studied, to a degree. In any case, without getting into the technical details, I am currently preparing to test the efficiency of a vaccine. I’m afraid it isn’t quite the cure that Goku had in mind.”

Sanzo nodded. “Good. A vaccine might be the better option. Only problem is distribution. Speaking of Goku, where is he?”

“We had…extensive testing to do today and it required multiple samples. He has an aversion to needles that makes it rather frustrating for him. I believe he went to visit the Core.”

As Sanzo passed him in the doorway, Hakkai held out his hand expectantly with his palm up. “Sanzo, please don’t waste our resources.”

Sanzo wordlessly passed him one of the bottles and Hakkai looked at the label. “Oh, is this all you were after? If you have a headache, just let me know. One or two of these will do. You can’t get high on these, as I’m sure you know, but they can still make you sick if you overdose.” He unscrewed the cap and shook out a couple of tablets, offering them to Sanzo. “Is everything all right?”

Sanzo nodded and wordlessly held out a hand, allowing Hakkai to drop the tablets into his palm. Either Hakkai thought he was an idiot trying to resort to common analgesics, or he was none the wiser to Sanzo’s true intentions.

He took the time to make himself a cup of tea and spent a good few minutes pacing in the messroom until he was sure Hakkai would have gotten back to work, and then headed straight for the communal washroom with a single-minded purpose. He shut the door and locked it behind him. There was nothing luxurious about this bathroom; just the same as the rest of Burial, it was minimally lit, minimally furnished with the basic necessities. He crouched to the floor and carefully pried up a loose panel. Hidden safely beneath was the small emergency stash he had stored away, one small bag of powder. They had searched his room and found everything, but they hadn’t thought to look here, and at the first opportunity, he wasted no time in coming to make his claim. A small, self-satisfied smirk flicked at the corner of his lip as he wrapped the goods in a small towel and smuggled them back to his own quarters. Once safely inside, he cracked open his remaining pilfered pill bottle and shook out a few tablets. If Hakkai wasn’t overworked and distracted, he might’ve noticed that Sanzo had kept half of his plunder. It was a lucky break.

He sat at his desk and set to work crushing up the pills as finely as he could. On its own, as Hakkai had said, this medicine would be worth little to him, nothing but a mild pain killer. But as a filler, it would come in handy. He could use it to extend the life of his last remaining reserve.

He felt little guilt as he worked to undermine all the effort of the past week. Just an inconsequential taste, a tiny little something to reward himself after going through detox hell. That’s what the dust whispered in his ear, convincing him that he could handle it, that everything was under control. After a few tedious minutes of manual labour yielded him acceptable results, he mixed the powdered pills together with some of the dust and mashed it together with a bit of water to form a solution, using one of the stolen syringes to suck up the liquid. So far so good, he glanced at the door and then squirted the mixture directly up his nose.

It stung more than he was expecting, the harsh chemistry of the filler drug taking no pity on his already abused anatomy. He took a moment to breath through his mouth as he recovered, his eyes watering profusely until tears tracked down his cheeks. But the bark was worth the bite. With a feeling of heady defiance, he went back for more. The rush of the drug combined with the knowledge that he was getting away with it combined into a twisted kind of pleasure, and he sucked it up in all its filthy glory with reckless, thoughtless abandon.

*******

The innermost heart and guts of Burial contained the Core. This was the underground generator complex, the machines that powered the entire complex, that kept the air filtered and clean, kept the lights and food processors running smoothly, kept the residents healthy and alive. The air here was filled with the steady drone of the machinery. Catwalks and ladders worked their way through and around the engines and wires and hoses, allowing only trusted personnel access to the system. At the Core was Burial’s biggest secret: a large, golden stone, its solid, shining surface wrapped with wires in an intricate vine-like net as it pulsed with a mysterious, inner power. This power, the source of Burial’s energy output, was Youkai magic, gathered from this strange rock hidden beneath the Waste.

Sanzo descended the final ladder, the metal rungs warm and smooth beneath his fingers. When he reached the bottom, he scanned the dimly lit chamber, looking for Goku. Craning his neck up, he finally spotted him sitting perched at the edge of a walkway overlooking the great stone.

“Hey, Sanzo! Wanna come up?” Goku shouted down, his voice echoing around the machinery.

“No,” Sanzo called back. “Get down here.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored and it’s your fault for booking me on this forced vacation. Entertain me.”

Goku stood, clambered up over the railing and then let his body drop, catching the lower rung one-handed on his way down. For a precarious moment, he dangled there, his body perfectly relaxed except for the tautness of the muscles in his shoulder and arm. And then he let go.

It was only a fraction of a second and a movement too quick to see later before it became apparent that Goku had switched hands, but that one split second where he was suspended in midair, holding on to nothing and dependent on nothing but his own power, was a clear statement of pure confidence in his own abilities. He swung his feet and legs out, let go proper, and sailed down to an adjacent catwalk. He continued in this way, taking the most direct, most precarious path to where Sanzo stood below. Finally, he jumped the last few metres and landed lightly on his feet, a huge grin decorating his face.

“Hi!”

Sanzo looked at that bright face, so full of energy and life, and he hoped that the admiration he felt did not show in his eyes. “Hn. Show-off. I guess monkeys don’t know how to use stairs.”

Goku made a pouting face. “I’m not a monkey. Stairs are just boring and unnecessary.”

“Suit yourself. Just don’t expect me to scrape you up off the floor when you mess up and fall.” As soon as it left his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“’Poof’, remember?” Goku flung his arms out to the sides. “There wouldn’t be anything left to scrape.”

As Sanzo knew all to well. It was nothing to joke about.

“Human deaths are so messy.” Goku poked at this own chest. “I’ve got blood and guts in here right now, all squishy and everything. It’s so weird that there wouldn’t be anything left.”

“Just think of it as an accelerated decomposition.” Sanzo leaned back against the railing encircling the stone, his fingers twitching for a cigarette.

“You still bored?” Goku asked, leaning back beside him.

“Yeah.” He couldn’t admit that he had just indulged in some secret entertainment behind the scenes.

“Me too,” said Goku. “I spent so much time in the labs growing up, all this needles and stuff is kinda bringing back those memories, you know? Thought I’d go exploring. I like it down here. It feels, I don’t know, kinda familiar.”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around down here. It’s not a playground.”

“But I wanted to see it for myself. The stone… The Core. Don’t you get the feeling like it’s somehow…alive?”

Sanzo swallowed uneasily. It was an uncomfortable idea, and it made the use of the stone feel wrong, like a violation. Wasn’t the violation of this planet supposed to be what he was fighting against? “It’s alive with power. No one knows what exactly that power is.”

Goku’s eyes shone gold, just like the stone. He was still wearing the medical gown Hakkai had given him for the tests, had pulled his pants on underneath before he left the lab. Sanzo gave him a strict once-over, scrutinizing the neat white bandages on Goku’s arm. He reached out and smoothed his thumb over an edge of bandage tape that was beginning to peel.

“He took a bunch of blood and tissue samples. Went overboard on the bandages, though. I heal quick.” Goku pinched the loose corner of the bandage and began to peel it off.

Sanzo reached out to still his hand. “Leave it. It’s fine.”

When their hands brushed together, large, round eyes turned to face him again, and Sanzo glanced away, not willing to engage with whatever he might find in that earnest gaze.

“Hey, you’re bleeding.” Goku tapped a finger under his own nose.

Sanzo reached up and swiped away the thin trickle of blood that had started to leak from his nose. His nasal passages still burned. The small dose he had taken had only served to kick his cravings into higher gear, and he felt a twinge of regret.

“You took something, didn’t you?” Goku said, his voice stinging with accusation. Sanzo chose not to reply and Goku frowned. “I knew it. What’re you trying to do? After all this, you go right back to square one. I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you understand? I have two demons inside of me—the Maten. And the addiction. You know what’s it like to have something alien inside, waiting to take control.” Sanzo tapped the Limiter around Goku’s head.

Goku pulled away and frowned. “That’s different. Anyway, don’t change the subject. I totally searched your room, so where’d you get it? As soon as we get back up, you’re giving me everything you were hiding.” A snappy petulance mixed with the disappointment in Goku’s voice, but it was obvious he meant what he said and intended to follow through.

Sanzo swallowed. The watered-down amount that he had taken still left a residual need that begged to be fulfilled. It was Goku’s fault that he was going through this crap. Goku insisted on taking charge, so he should take responsibility. It seemed like a reasonable assumption. Aware of how close Goku was standing beside him, he recalled the night in the club, when their bodies had been pressed together on the dance floor. The drug weakening his inhibitions, he leaned in close. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” He angled his head and inhaled deeply, as if he could taste Goku’s essence on the air. The taste of dust was dry and sharp and bitter, but Goku’s scent was earthy, rich, and warm. “If I give it to you, what do I get in return?”

Goku blinked. “Huh?”

Sanzo turned and pushed Goku up against the railing, his fingers pressing into Goku’s skin through the thin material of the hospital gown. “Feed me.” He pressed his mouth to Goku’s throat, biting down with light pressure and pressing his tongue against Goku’s skin to steal a taste.

“Sanzo, what—” Goku pushed back against him. “Stop it.”

Sanzo gave in to a sudden wave of need and want that clouded his brain and made his legs go weak. He sank to his knees at Goku’s feet, ran his hands up Goku’s legs, smoothing over loose-fit cargo pants and the firm muscles beneath as he pushed up the hospital gown to trail his tongue across Goku’s flat belly. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but it felt blindingly good to just give in to whatever it was.

“I said _stop_.” Goku shoved him away, hard, and Sanzo fell backwards against the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sanzo looked up at Goku and licked his lips, searching for a lingering trace of Goku’s taste, but found nothing but the metallic tang of his own blood.

Goku frantically tugged the gown back into place. “You—You just came onto me!”

Was that what he was doing? Sanzo wasn’t even sure. He just needed to satisfy these mad cravings, one way or another. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes!” Goku squeaked, still looking a little startled. He sighed in exasperation and slumped back to lean against the rail. “Look. It’s not like I don’t want you.” His cheeks coloured with his confession. “And I guess I made it pretty clear in the club the other night, too. But you’re _high_! You probably don’t even know what you’re doing right now. Letting you take advantage of me would be like me taking advantage of you.” An kaleidoscope of emotion crossed his face.

Sanzo felt even more confused than Goku looked. He wiped the rest of the blood above his lip with his sleeve and stood, feeling a little unsteady on his feet.

“Wait, you don’t let people take advantage of you, do you?” Goku suddenly blurted out. “I mean, you don’t do stuff in exchange for drugs? Like sex stuff?” He looked as horrified as Sanzo felt.

That stung. The very idea was revolting. He’d never sunk that low, and yet, at the same time, it was sobering to think what people were capable of doing when they got desperate enough. “Like hell I would. If it had been anyone else other than you… Fuck. Forget it.” He turned to go. He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking and he just wanted to check out of this whole uncomfortable situation. It was becoming offensive and unnecessarily complicated. Why had he gone seeking out Goku in the first place?

Goku caught his arm. “Wait. What you just said. If it had been anyone other than me, you wouldn’t have done that. So, that means—”

“Drop it. Like you said, I’m too fucked up right now to know what I’m—”

Goku reeled him in, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down for a kiss, right on the mouth. It wasn’t shy, or hesitant. There was nothing sweet or romantic about it. He shoved his tongue in between Sanzo’s lips and boldly fed him with what felt like a dare, a challenge, and a suggestion all in a wet, messy mouthful of lust and longing. It was only a few seconds that felt like forever before Goku released him, pulling hard at Sanzo’s bottom lip as he broke away.

Goku exhaled audibly, as if he’d just chugged back an ice-cold drink on a sticky hot afternoon. His eyes were bright and filled with raw want. Sanzo knew that look, or something like it. He’d seen it in the mirror often enough when the cravings were at their peak.

“That was just a teaser. You ditch the drugs and you still want more, I’ll be waiting.”

Sanzo couldn’t resist the urge to lick his lips. It was physically impossible right at that moment. “Is that your idea of an incentive package?”

Goku’s confident self-assertion slipped into a small smile that was endearingly shy after the no-holds-barred kiss of a moment ago. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The communicator beeped, crackled, and then Hakkai’s voice, distorted by interference, came through. “—zo? Sanzo, can you hear me?”

“Copy, Hakkai. What is it?”

“Eureka. I do believe I’ve got it.”

Sanzo may not have developed much of a sense of ‘hope’ yet, but it looked like Goku and the others had enough to share.


	7. Chapter 7

**Dusted**

**Chapter 7**

The thick, reinforced glass of the small porthole window yielded little to see as the dragon-craft zipped over the bleak and treacherous landscape of the Wastes. Even stuck within the cramped confines of the vehicle, it was liberating to be on the move again, out in the open and above ground. This was no casual road trip, but even so, for Sanzo, the journey brought a final opportunity for rest and recovery. As they approached ever nearer to the rendezvous point with the Maten, it was like gradually gathering up a trailing vital organ that had been ripped out and stretched to the breaking point, every mile adding a fresh stitch to the wound. Physically, it was a relief. Mentally, he cursed the impossibility of simply cutting the cord and setting himself free from the last of his dependencies.

Blinking out of an unfocused daze brought on by the boredom of long, monotonous travel, he shifted in the backseat and stretched his legs until his calf muscles threatened to cramp. Swallowing back the lingering nausea of the last traces of withdrawal (and regretting having set himself back with that little transgression involving his hidden stash), he dug into the duffle bag on the floor near his feet and pulled out the bottles of painkiller and stomach settling tablets that Hakkai had given him. He shook out one of each and considered them as they lay innocently in the palm of his hand. The pills were nothing but chalky white powder consisting of mild doses of pharmaceutical chemicals and harmless filler that had been molded into helpful, unassuming little shapes. Yet reaching for them had become both a comfort and a kind of ritualistic reminder that, until recently, another kind of white powder had wielded so much power over him. Popping both into his mouth like candy, he crushed them between his teeth into a bitter, gritty paste. He knew they were meant to be swallowed whole and maybe they worked better that way, but his sense of taste, dulled by substance abuse, had become accustomed to something with a bite. The sharp medicinal tang tasted like penance and redemption.

The four men slept in shifts, two in the cab up front keeping watch while the others rested in the back passenger compartment. Hakuryuu had kindly provided them with a basic cot tucked behind the back seat, underneath which they had stashed their bundles of supplies. Goku had already retreated to the cot and lay sprawled out asleep and snoring behind the protective netting that was strung across to prevent unsuspecting sleepers from being thrown about in the event of an accident. From up front came the occasional murmur of Gojyo and Hakkai’s snippets of conversation, but often the only sound was the comfortable drone of the dragon's dependable engine.

A heavy drowsiness wrapped around Sanzo like a warm blanket. With no good reason to avoid sleep other than stubborn tenacity, he reached for the button to undo his seatbelt so that he could go and lie down next to Goku. The shared space and close quarters of travel, rather than becoming awkward, only seemed to charge the space between the two of them with a lowkey buzz of expectancy that was somehow both calming and stimulating, like holding onto a good stretch. As his fingers brushed over the leathery material of the seat cover, he remained acutely aware of the living status of the craft. Despite the seemingly fantastical nature of the creature’s transformation, riding around in a conscious vehicle was unfortunately not an unfamiliar concept. The discomfiting novelty here was that he was now a mere passenger and completely unattuned to this independent and autonomous lifeforce. It didn’t help that Hakuryuu still hadn’t quite warmed up to him after their initial meeting, either. As if to warn the beast of his intentions, he placed his finger over the indent in the button on the clasp and let it rest there for a moment before beginning to apply pressure.

The craft suddenly bucked into a steep upwards tilt while almost simultaneously shifting into complete reverse in midair. Sanzo immediately surrendered his intentions even as the momentum of the unexpected maneuver slammed him back into his seat and then threw him forward against his thankfully still fully secured safety restraint. His face blanched as his stomach nearly staged a revolt. As the craft righted itself a moment later, a heavy wave of sand cascaded over the front windshield and battered the roof like an avalanche. An echoing, ghastly shriek of hollow, instinctual hunger grated through the air around the entire craft. _Sandworm_. The ground ahead of them had just exploded as one of the camouflaged monsters reared its ugly head and lunged at them with its gaping, needle-toothed maw.

Gojyo cursed from the front passenger seat, his foot braced against the dash.

“Hold on!” Hakkai shouted, gripping the wheel to help guide the living craft’s startled escape as they swerved to safety and sped away from the site of attack.

Once out of danger, Gojyo whooped in triumph. “Haha! Yeah! Eat our dust, sucker!”

“Goyjo, need I remind you that it _lives_ in the dust quite happily.” Hakkai patted the steering wheel affectionately. “Excellent save, Hakuryuu. Thank you.”

Now wide awake, Goku unhooked the safety netting and clambered into the back seat beside Sanzo. “Man, that thing must’ve been starving, ‘cause now I’m hungry, too.”

“Since when is hunger contagious, monkey? Heads up!” Gojyo tossed a snack ration into the back. Goku caught it easily and tore the packet open with his teeth before stuffing it into his mouth and scarfing it down with indelicate enthusiasm.

Sanzo quickly turned away, pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and dry wretched as inconspicuously as he could. The age-old weary traveller’s mantra quietly played over in his head: _are we there yet?_

***

The ruins were barely recognizable as those of a modern Youkaian metropolis. With most of the city annihilated, only sorry remnants of the tallest structures remained. Hidden amidst the rubble, the Maten waited. As they navigated through this grim spectre of what once was, Sanzo impatiently began gearing up to go out well before Hakuryuu finally came to a stop. As soon as physically possible, he was out of the craft and making tracks towards the dust covered metal plates that hid the entrance to the desolate underground train station marking the Maten’s place of concealment.

He stopped a safe distance away and fixed his gaze on the plates. In contrast to his rigid stance, his heart raced with expectation. With a troubled crease at his brow and a nervous, brooding darkness shadowing his face behind his visor, he held up a hand to halt the others as they approached from behind. He dropped his hand to his side and slowly curled his gloved fingers into tight fists, as if to contain within them all of the frustration and fury he felt towards this forced partnership, and the degree to which the ship had become an inseparable extension of himself. There was no outlet of escape that he hadn’t already tried, save death, and even that was uncertain – the ship was known to retain an imprint of past captains. Perhaps even his spirit would haunt the ship’s circuitry long after his flesh and bones had faded away. So he waited, his very presence a silent summons that he knew without a doubt would be answered.

It didn’t take long. The Maten had been waiting, too. A low hum, more felt than heard, gradually became more audible as he sensed its approach. The ground trembled and then the solid metal plates split apart at the central seal, revealing a bright flash of light from beneath. The heavy, sand encrusted plates parted like pieces of lightweight foam and disintegrated before they had a chance to hit the ground. From within the cavern below, the Maten emerged from its hidden retreat and rose to greet its chosen captain. Although not massive by any means, the low-lying, shuttle-length ship cast a menacing shadow. Sleek and streamlined in design and gleaming like quicksilver against the bleak backdrop of the Waste, it purred mechanically as its smooth surface pulsed with points of light laced together with intricate veins of glowing gold. Coloured iridescence rippled like liquid oilslick across the entire surface of the vessel in seemingly random patterns. Beneath his protective garb, Sanzo’s skin lit up in synchronous response as his eyes glowed with an eerie violet light. The Maten slid forward smoothly through the air and then gently settled onto the ground amidst a puff of dusty sand.

Once the dust had settled, Sanzo approached and laid a gloved hand on the ship’s side. The metallic skin glowed with a warm light beneath his touch. A rush of power flooded his body from head to toe with staticky heat. All systems in sync. The lights adorning both man and machine dimmed and then faded completely. In an instant, all remaining pain of separation was quickly quenched.

“Missed me, did you?” Sanzo hissed under his breath, not loud enough for the others to hear. “Good. You little shit.” He drew back his booted foot and kicked the ship in the side before crossing his arms tightly and turning his back on the thing altogether. Behind him, the Maten continued its eerily inorganic hum of greeting. With surgical precision, it inched forward ever so slightly until the contoured edge of an elegantly flared side nudged up against Sanzo’s back as gently as a feather’s touch. He leaned against the offered support and gave in for one brief moment to the relief and reassurance of its warm, solid presence against his back. It did not come cheap, this moment of peace. Pride, individuality, humanity - in this one moment of surrender, he threw them all away.

When he finally pushed himself away, the other three were still waiting, having held back on their approach while watching the undeniably intimate exchange from afar.

“Let’s get moving,” Sanzo called. “I’ll take the Maten. You three ride with the lizard.”

“Wait!” Goku ran up to the ship and stroked his gloved hands over it as if it were a long-lost family pet before turning to Sanzo with a level, determined look. “I’ll ride with you.”

Sanzo noted with cool disapproval the travel bag presumptuously slung over Goku’s shoulder. Watching his friendly interaction with the ship stung like a slap of betrayal, but memories of Goku’s unexpected kiss, of his hands on the dance floor, flashed to the surface of Sanzo’s mind in vivid detail. He felt his initial objection drop away and settle into hesitant acceptance. “Fine. Gojyo, Hakkai, stay with Hakuryuu. Goku is with me.”

“Suits me,” said Gojyo, stretching his arms up over his head after the long period spent cooped up in the craft. “If I had to be stuck with Dusty puking his guts out for much longer, I’d stage a mutiny.” He waggled a finger in Goku’s direction. “Don’t do drugs, kids, they’ll fuck you up.”

Goku thrust his chin in Gojyo’s direction, likely sticking out his tongue behind his mask. “I’m not a kid, cockroach. I’m a co-pilot now, so screw you!”

Sanzo ignored the juvenile banter and let Gojyo’s inflammatory comment slide. It was nothing more than a crude, playful jab to his pride. But his pride still stung with the fresh rope-burns of a bondage renewed, and he was too busy hiding the scars to play pointless games of one-upmanship now. Anyway, it hadn’t been as bad as Gojyo made it out to be. Yes, he’d still been suffering residual effects, but he’d already gotten over the worst of it back in Burial. Besides, after enduring the humiliation of recent events, he could at least admit to himself that he probably deserved whatever any of them saw fit to throw at him.

“Sanzo?” Goku asked, his voice soft and inquisitive, as if gently peeling back the corner of a bandage to check the status of the wound beneath. “Aren’t you glad to have him back?”

Now _that_ remark hit a bit too close to home. A mixed pot of boiling emotions bubbling over at last, he lashed out without thinking. “Hell, no. Are you fucking kidding me? It’s this tin can’s fault that I’m even out here to begin with. I never asked for any of this.” He thumped Maten’s side with a fist. “And it’s an ‘it’ not a ‘he.’”

“Hey, watch it, Sanzo. That’s called an abusive relationship,” Gojyo sauntered over and laid an admiring hand on the Maten. He’d always had an affinity for machines.

“Now, now, Gojyo. Let him take out his frustrations. Beating his ship is basically a form of sadomasochism, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ooh, kinky.”

“Everybody just shut the hell up.” Sanzo’s lip twitched in disgust. “And stop pawing at my goddamned ship.”

Gojyo let out a yelp as the ship flared briefly, becoming momentarily too hot to touch. Sanzo smirked. “Let’s move out. We’re wasting time.”

“Wait a sec,” said Gojyo, pointing at the ship. “I know what I just said, but the Maten’s a lot faster than Hakuryuu, so why aren’t we all gonna board? Wouldn’t that make sense?” He looked around at the others, his pointing hand turned up in a shrug.

A door in the side of the ship, the borders of which had been smoothly invisible just a moment before, slid open, and Sanzo was already in the process of boarding when he called back over his shoulder. “If you don’t like the arrangement, feel free to walk.”

“I don’t get it, though,” Gojyo said, watching as Goku trotted off cheerfully behind Sanzo.

“Never mind, Gojyo. Perhaps he needs some alone time with--”

The door soundlessly sealed shut behind them, cutting off Hakkai’s comment. Sanzo stopped abruptly, struck still by the painfully blatant accuracy of the remark. He was kidding himself if he thought he could hide it from anyone else, let alone himself. He needed the Maten. He fucking _needed_ it. His face flushed with a hot wave of humiliation fueled with anger against the entire state of his existence.

“ _Oof_.” Goku bumped into him from behind and pressed a steadying hand against his back. “Sanzo?”

“Nothing,” Sanzo snapped. “Let’s go.”

As the four continued their journey, the lights of Shangri-La Tower shone like an ominous beacon through the haze ahead.

*******

A storm battered ineffectually against the protective exterior of the ship as they navigated through the violent, sand-blasted winds. It was a minor event, as far as recent weather phenomenon could be classified. The compact, minimalist interior remained completely removed from the chaos outside.

With little to do but wait, Goku had already retired to one of the four small crew bunks to catch some shuteye. Meanwhile, Sanzo had retreated to the cockpit towards the bow of the ship and had been reclining alone in the captain’s chair for the past three or four hours. The smooth obsidian black of the window shields and wall panels around him reflected the muted lights ringing the perimeter of the floor and ceiling. Subdued illumination cast a soft glow over his face. The intimate synchronicity of the fusion between man and ship was a cold, alien kind of comfort. Alert, but profoundly relaxed, he had gradually settled into a meditative state. It had been so long since he’d last experienced this stability of mind and body, always jacked up on Dust and consumed by thoughts of when and how he was going to get his next fix. At least here he had some semblance of control.

The exquisitely sensitive, protective aura he had worn as an invisible shield for the past three years was absent while on board, as the ship’s exterior itself served the same purpose. How disconcerting, then, not to _feel_ Goku’s approach. He heard the soft hiss as the door slid open, and then nothing. Not more than thirty seconds passed, but the silence seemed to stretch their length. If there was the slightest chance that the visitor could be anyone else, he would never tolerate this sneaking invasion of his personal space. He tempered the urge to break his repose, his trigger finger finely honed through years of living on edge. Trust was a powerful constraint.

When Goku spoke, his voice spilled out with a bright effervescence that flooded the silence. “Hey. You’re still here. Are you awake?”

“No. Go back to bed. Leave me alone.” Sanzo’s quiet dismissal lacked bite or substance. He was in no mood to put up a fight about something that was never really a problem in the first place. Despite his initial reluctance, Goku’s company onboard was not unwelcome.

Goku’s bare feet shuffled a little closer. “Alone… with Maten? After such a long time apart I guess—”

“ _Enough_.” Sanzo’s elbow jabbed against the chair as he propped himself up and twisted around to face Goku. His gut twisted with a visceral aversion. Everyone just had to keep rubbing it in. Were they that blindly ignorant?

Goku stood in his t-shirt and sleep pants, a startled expression fading into a concerned pout. He crossed the remaining distance to crouch beside Sanzo’s chair, his hands resting on its edge. “Sanzo? You okay?”

If he had to spell it out, then Sanzo figured now was as good a time as any. He spoke slowly and deliberately, his truth unwinding like a thick, dark coil. “No, I'm not okay. Look. The Maten Kaigen is not some benevolent sidekick; It’s a sick experiment orchestrated by HEAVEN. You were there. You know that. It _violated_ me and nearly killed me in the process. It’s unforgivable. I refuse to accept it. Yet I _cannot_ survive without it. I have no choice. Do you understand what that means?”

Goku dropped his gaze and pressed his nails into the chair. “I never meant—I just feel like maybe there wasn’t a choice for _either_ of you. I didn’t mean to—” When he lifted his face again, his eyes were set with a wide, unwavering sincerity untainted by any pretense. “I do understand. I’m sorry.”

His anger buffered, tempered, and molded into reluctant resignation, Sanzo resumed his previous prone position and closed his eyes. “Apology noted.” Goku’s proximity made it impossible to ignore his presence even if he had wanted to, but the silence between them was surprisingly easy to settle into as he regained his composure.

“Gojyo’s right, y’know.” Quiet but refreshingly matter of fact, Goku spoke as if nothing awkward had passed between them. “We could be there in no time if we all ride Maten. He— _it’s_ faster than Hakuryuu.”

“That’s why we wait. I need to make sure my mind is clear before we arrive. We’re up against Ukoku. He has my father’s ship, and you say he wants to take mine. I’m not going to rush into this before I’m—” He clenched his teeth against his own admission of weakness. “Before I’m ready.”

“Okay. How much time do you need? Can I help?”

No accusation. No mockery. No push-back. Full support and acceptance permeated Goku’s every word, every syllable, his every breath. Sanzo still felt relaxed enough to consider Goku’s question rather than brush it off purely on impulse. His addiction and cravings were under control. He was back in contact with the Maten. Goku was alive, present, and undeniably on his side, as he always had been. Sanzo knew Goku’s devotion was more than what he deserved, but it was everything that he needed, and more. It was what he _wanted_. And this journey could very well be their last chance. No one knew what the future held.

Goku’s kiss from before and his offer of more hadn’t lost their appeal. Even now, he was acutely aware of Goku’s close physical presence. Only one craving remained, because there was still one thing, _someone_ , he couldn’t stop thinking about. How would it feel to give in to this desire? How would it feel to finally bridge the gap torn by three long years? He could easily have his answer.

He opened his eyes and tilted his head. Still crouched at his side, Goku’s face was disarmingly close, alert, attentive, and warm. Making up his mind, Sanzo took a steadying breath. “If the offer is still valid, I intend to cash in on my incentive package. Here and now.” He watched Goku’s reaction carefully.

Goku’s eyes widened, and then he blinked several times in rapid succession. “Oh.” Black swallowed gold as his pupils dilated even further in the dim light. “ _Oh_. Oh, yeah, it’s totally valid.” He searched Sanzo’s face just as carefully, but the warmth in his eyes was already taking on a new heat and intensity that almost burned right through Sanzo’s resolve.

“Sanzo…” Goku reached out and brushed his fingertips tentatively across Sanzo’s shoulder to rest against his collarbone. “You sure?”

“I said it, didn’t I? You’re an idiot but you aren’t deaf.” It helped to lash out, to mask flustered nerves under a harsh veneer.

Goku dropped his gaze to Sanzo’s lips. Licked his own. “I’ve been waiting a long time. I don’t wanna hold back. If you’re still not feeling well…”

“For crying out loud, are you trying to make me change my mind? Just get on with it and fuck me already.” Sanzo froze as the veneer cracked under the intense heat of embarrassed realization. It almost felt like a slip of the tongue, a horrible mistake, except that he had meant every single word. 

Goku’s cheeks flushed as red as Sanzo’s felt. A playfully shy smile flickered over his lips. “Okay. Since you put it that way.” Moving with a slow caution, as if half expecting Sanzo to push him away, or perhaps giving him the chance to do just that, he gripped Sanzo's chin between finger and thumb and tilted his head back to expose his throat, then bent to press his mouth against the rapidly beating pulse. It was such a simple preliminary act, but Sanzo was surprised at how good it felt. After sucking gently at his skin for a few seconds, Goku pulled away to whisper close to his ear. “You taste good.”

Sanzo let his eyes fall shut and tried to relax as a shiver ran down his spine. “I’m not edible, stupid.” Although not entirely sure he knew what he was getting himself into, Goku was the one who had extended the initial offer, and Sanzo trusted him to follow through on his word.

Goku brushed the pad of his thumb up under Sanzo’s lower lip. “No? So then… do you wanna pick up where we left off?”

Sanzo’s distracted mind drew a blank. “What?”

“Mmm, well, you were on your knees, remember? Pretty sure you wanted to eat _me_. Bet if I hadn’t stopped you, you totally would’ve sucked me off.”

Sanzo snapped his eyes open and jerked his head away, but Goku gently drew him back again, slipping soothing fingers through his hair with his other hand. “Sorry.” Blunt nails scraped gently against his scalp. “I’m just teasing. We won’t do anything you don’t wanna do.” He gazed with longing at Sanzo’s lips for a moment. “Let’s take it slow.” He stood up suddenly, standing over Sanzo before turning away.

A jolt of disappointment so deep that it verged on abandonment doused Sanzo with such a cold chill right down to the pit of his stomach that it took him by surprise to realize just how much he did want this after all. But he need not have worried. Goku didn’t leave him wanting, but simply moved around to the foot of the chair to crouch down at his feet. Sanzo watched with wary interest as Goku started to work on the buckles of his boots. Glancing up occasionally as he worked, he methodically loosened both boots and then pulled them off, dropping each one to the floor with a soft thud. Once he had Sanzo’s feet completely bared, he took a minute to stroke a hand over each foot with an unpracticed yet naturally intuitive touch. Cupping the left heel in one hand, he worked his opposite thumb over the sole, starting out with gentle pressure and gradually kneading deeper and deeper into sensitive muscles and nerves. Sanzo hadn’t known exactly what to expect, but a foot rub hadn’t even crossed his mind. The massage soon had him melting into the chair, soothing away the nervous tension that had built up since the start of this encounter.

“Unzip for me,” Goku said, still working strong, warm hands over Sanzo’s bare soles.

Sanzo opened his eyes, again failing to compute as he lost himself in appreciation of the touch. “What?”

“You’re an idiot, but you’re not deaf. I said,” Goku pressed a bit harder into a particularly sensitive spot. “Unzip.”

“Watch your damn mouth, monkey.” Sanzo frowned at the saucy remark, but once he had a moment to process the request, it seemed reasonable enough. He made quick work of all the buckles first, then reached for the top of his bodysuit and unclipped the protective covering over the zipper. Clasping the small zipper head between his fingers, he was just about to yank it down when Goku interrupted him.

“Wait. Do it slow. Like, reallll slow allll the way down.” As if to demonstrate what he meant, he pressed his thumb slowly, with firm steady pressure, down the side of Sanzo’s foot.

Sanzo narrowed his eyes. This request seemed a little less reasonable and more along the lines of a bossy and scheming monkey making unnecessarily perverted demands. He hesitated a moment and then…

Goku targeted another especially tender spot and Sanzo’s leg tensed up from the unexpected pain. “I’m waiting, Sanzo.”

Sanzo's breath caught as his cock twitched in response. Until now, he had only been hovering on the edge of arousal, but now that edge sharpened, and the comfortable glow of warm sensuality darkened and began to spark into a baser kind of heat. Maybe a bossy Goku had a certain appeal. And those hands were still busy working his feet, so Sanzo figured a bit of give and take wouldn’t hurt. He started to pull the zipper slowly down from his collar to just below his navel, the tight material parting to reveal the naked skin beneath.

Goku’s hands had stilled as he watched. Sanzo nudged him with a foot. “Hey.”

“Sorry, that was kinda distracting.” Goku smiled sheepishly and gave the foot in his hand a final squeeze. He propped one knee up on the foot of the chair and leaned forward, running his hands up over the snug material still covering Sanzo’s legs. “This needs to go.”

Sanzo sat up just enough to pull his arms out of his sleeves. He grasped the open edges of the suit, raised his hips, and pulled it down past his ass, exposing his now semi-erect sex to Goku’s hungry gaze. Nudity was an obvious requirement here, and he didn’t have any insecurities regarding his body, so why not get on with it? He was ready for this. Even so, the obvious lust in Goku’s eyes was a potent reminder of the fact that he was currently laid out like dessert on a platter. He had the distinct feeling that Goku was about to devour him whole.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, as Goku’s gaze wandered freely over his body.

“Yeah, that works. Let me take it from here.” He reached out to hook his fingers under the edge of the suit and set to work peeling it the rest of the way down Sanzo’s legs, slipping it over each foot in turn until Sanzo was stretched out completely nude on the luxuriously comfortable recliner. Goku paused to unabashedly take in the sight again, and then advanced slowly up onto the chair as he zeroed in on his prey. Sanzo accommodated by spreading his legs enough to allow Goku to crawl up between them.

“Confession time,” Goku said as he settled in with his knees pressed against Sanzo’s thighs. “When I walked in on you that day and you were in the middle of doping up, I was shocked, yeah. But later, I thought about what it would be like to do it with you when you’re high. You looked hot.”

“Pervert.”

“I wouldn’t! Even when you came onto me that time, I wouldn’t. But now I know you want me for real, I’m not gonna stop til you look just like you did then, totally wasted. Not gonna stop til you’re high on _me_.”

“Pretty cocky, for a tiny monkey. Do you even know what you’re doing?” As soon as the question left his mouth, Sanzo almost dreaded the answer. The thought that perhaps Goku had taken a lover during his absence pricked at him with an irritatingly anxious stab of jealous uncertainty. He didn't know every detail about Goku's confinement at the Tower, but apparently there had been some level of free engagement. He hadn't been locked away in solitary confinement. Sanzo was selfish. He didn’t want to _share_ or be compared, not even with a distant memory or a meaningless one-night stand.

“Sure I do. Well...” A blush darkened Goku’s cheeks as his confidence faltered. “Ukoku had a huge porn collection, so you could say I got a decent education.”

“Speaking of perverts…” Sanzo relaxed in relief. If it was just porn, he could accept that a horny, curious monkey might not be able to resist.

“Yeah. Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t been thinking about it. I’m not some dumb kid. I know what I want. And right now, I really wanna do _this_.” Goku licked his lips and leaned in for a kiss.

As Goku’s lips descended towards his, Sanzo balked. Sex was one thing, but they weren’t characters in a cheesy romance. He shoved a hand up between them, blocking the advance. “I didn’t say you could slobber on me.” After years spent putting up walls, old habits die hard.

Goku made a throaty little sound of frustration as he pushed his chin against Sanzo’s palm. His voice took on a whiny edge. “But you liked it before.”

“I did not. You surprised me, that’s all.” Sanzo wanted this, yes, but he felt a cool shiver of alarm in response to Goku’s raw desire. The pure want in Goku’s eyes… so much like the look in his own eyes when all he cared about was chasing the high and nothing else mattered. He knew what it was like to lose control. What would it be like to lose himself to Goku? If he could just tone down the heat of Goku’s advance a little, he could gain himself some room to breathe. “If you want it so much, then earn it.”

Goku considered, and then a devious little smile flickered across his lips. “Sounds fun. Let’s play.” His tongue darted out to trail across the palm of Sanzo’s hand, and then he bent to kiss and suck a path along his collarbone.

Curious as to what Goku had in mind, Sanzo cautiously drew his arm away as Goku worked his mouth over the contour of the bone. Goku was being enthusiastic enough that he was probably going to leave marks behind, but it didn't matter. Sanzo was used to dealing with the physical aftermath of having his cravings satisfied. No pain, no gain - that's often how it worked. When Goku’s fingers suddenly brushed across a nipple, Sanzo inhaled as an intense jolt of pleasure shot through his body. Taking advantage of this newfound target, Goku ghosted featherlight touches over Sanzo’s chest that soon had Sanzo shivering as his nipples hardened in response. Without warning, Goku turned it up a notch and pinched, a little too hard, at the tender nubs. Sanzo’s abdominal muscles tightened as he sucked in a breath, his body jerking beneath the touch.

Goku laughed under his breath, obviously thinking he had gained the upper hand, and Sanzo’s skin flushed in both pleasure and defeat. But Goku wasn’t finished with his winning streak. He nibbled his way up Sanzo’s throat as he continued to tweak and roll the peaked flesh between his finger and thumb. He proceeded along the line of Sanzo’s jaw towards his chin, coming dangerously close to stealing his coveted kiss. At the very last moment, Sanzo turned his face away. He had his pride. He wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Goku, waltz into his private space without making him very aware that any and all boundaries were his own to set and would never be brought down without explicit consent. It wasn’t going to be anything like the time a certain ship had decided to ‘choose’ him, without him having any say in the matter, thrusting on him a lifelong bond that he had never asked for and never wanted.

It was different with Goku. Goku was his by choice.

“Feels good?” Goku murmured, teasing with the tips of his fingers.

“Not good enough,” breathed Sanzo, his eyes half-lidded.

Sanzo felt Goku’s smile curl against his skin in acceptance of the challenge. He seemed to be enjoying the game. He dipped his head and licked at one pink nipple, swiping it with his tongue.

Sanzo arched his back, seeking more of that perpetually hungry mouth against his skin.

Goku watched his reaction between exploratory licks. “You’re super sensitive here, huh?” He flicked the now wet nub with his finger.

Sanzo’s retort caught in his throat as he desperately suppressed whatever embarrassingly incoherent sound had just threatened to slip out. He managed to frown and shake his head even as he shivered under the touch.

Goku’s eyes glinted with an alluringly naughty mixture of lust, mischief, and newly stoked-up confidence. “Yeah, you are. You like it when I play with your little tits, don’t you?” His cheeks blushed again, the tell-tale red of embarrassment spreading right up to his ears and giving away his lack of experience in the art of seduction. He hid it by lowering his face again and latching on with his mouth, suckling gently and then increasing pressure until Sanzo was gripping the edges of the chair too hard to think about telling Goku off for being such a shameless, impudent little bastard. At least Goku was putting his mouth to good use now with lots of wet suction and experimental tongue action as he switched from one side to the other, relentlessly toying with the hardened buds.

Sanzo parted his lips, breathing through his mouth as Goku teased his body into submission. He heard Goku moan for the first time, a deep, guttural hum of satisfaction as his lips sealed around an erect nipple and sucked noisily.

The heat of arousal continued to build in Sanzo’s body, his skin nearly feverish. His hands drifted up to Goku’s head, sleep-tousled hair soft and cool beneath his fingers. His legs spread further apart without consciously realizing it as Goku’s hand stroked down over his flat belly, paused to rub over his hipbone, and finally settled on his inner thigh.

Sanzo was left panting by the time Goku finally unlatched that greedy mouth, overstimulated nipples poking up from his heaving chest and glistening with saliva.

Goku licked his wet lips. “Now try telling me you don’t like it.”

“Shut up,” Sanzo managed between breaths. He knew he was losing, had already lost, but Goku’s victory was his own reward.

“Nope. I’m gonna shut _you_ up for once.” And Goku claimed his kiss at last, sealing Sanzo’s mouth with his and shoving his tongue inside.

Sanzo had dropped his guard, and now he had an overwhelmingly wet, messy mouthful of Goku to contend with. Sanzo pushed back tentatively at the tongue in his mouth as it swiped against his own, but that only encouraged Goku to devour his mouth with voracious abandon.

_Fuck._ Sanzo threaded his fingers tightly through Goku’s hair, pulling against his scalp as he caught Goku’s tongue between his teeth and applied hard pressure.

Goku whimpered in protest and jerked back his head, Sanzo’s teeth scraping against his tongue as the kiss broke apart. “Ow. What gives? I thought you wanted this.”

“Just… slow down, dammit. Let me breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Goku’s pout of frustration disappeared in an instant, replaced with an eager understanding. With a grunt of acquiescence, he pressed his lips to Sanzo's forehead with sweet affection, and then ghosted them almost agonizingly slowly down the bridge of his nose until finally dropping a soft but insistent kiss directly on his mouth. Sanzo eased his grip on Goku’s hair in approval and parted his lips in an open invitation. Goku’s tongue snuck inside and played against his with more finesse than previously. For a little while, their lips touched only slightly as the tips of their tongues gently tapped and brushed together in a nice, leisurely, tingly way that Sanzo found he actually quite enjoyed, not that he would be keen to admit it. Goku moaned again and Sanzo, relaxing into the light play, deliberately let slip one of his own, just to let Goku know that he was on the right track. Goku drew back so that Sanzo had to chase his tongue out into the open to maintain contact, and Goku used the opportunity to capture and suck on his tongue in a way that made Sanzo quiver before releasing him with a wet slurp and a sigh of satisfaction. Sanzo barely had time to take a breath before Goku suddenly dove back in for more, resuming his previous heavy assault.

It was hard to train a monkey, after all.

Sanzo decided it was less effort to simply let Goku have his way. Goku was no delicate connoisseur; he was a ravenous animal. It made sense that he’d approach kissing like an all-you-can-eat buffet. How do you deal with hungry beasts? _Feed them until they’re satiated_. He opened his mouth a little wider, giving Goku unlimited access. Goku wasted no time in trying to stick his tongue down Sanzo’s throat, thrusting it deep into his mouth with sloppy enthusiasm until saliva leaked at the corners of Sanzo’s lips. As if that wasn’t excessive enough, Goku had the gall to hook two fingers over Sanzo’s bottom teeth, grasping his lower jaw to keep his mouth wide open. Sanzo protested with a muffled groan, initially put off by the unexpectedly rough and brazen carnality of the act, but the way Goku moaned into his mouth went straight to his groin in a way that soon had him inclined to submit.

Surely this was no normal kiss. Sanzo felt on the verge of drowning. His fingers began tightening again in Goku’s hair before Goku finally took mercy, having feasted enough to feel temporarily satisfied. Sanzo took a deep breath, nearly choking on the excess of saliva. He swallowed the warm liquid that had gathered in his mouth, well aware that it wasn’t just his own as it slid down his throat. Too distracted to notice Goku’s drifting hands, he felt them now braced against his legs and pushing them further apart.

Goku rose to his knees and shifted closer, an obvious bulge tenting the front of his sleep pants. He wore a small, open-mouthed smile, his tongue poking out from between his teeth suggestively.

Sanzo answered with a narrow-eyed scowl. “So you got your damn kiss.” He reached up to wipe the moisture from his chin with the back of his hand. “Don’t look so smug about it.” He hardly recognized his own voice, so smoky and smoldering with desire.

“Not smug,” Goku said, his voice, too, deepened by lust, the sound of it almost a physical caress down Sanzo’s spine. “I just…” He bit his lip and groaned. “I really need to…Mmm, gimme a minute.” Goku tugged up his t-shirt and pulled the waistband of his pants down over the bulge right there in front of Sanzo, revealing a very hard and very generous erection. He wrapped his hand around his girth and a shudder of pleasure rippled across his exposed abs as he shamelessly began to pump into his own hand, his hips rocking with a slow and languid rhythm. His eyes slid shut and then fluttered open, watching his private audience. Any shyness Goku had felt at the start seemed to be gone, now. “You want it?”

Sanzo flicked his gaze from Goku’s groin to his face, and then back down. There was no mistaking how much _Goku_ wanted this. Sanzo took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was in control, that he could back out at any time. With Goku, there would never be a point of no return.

Goku’s cock was already leaking, and he swiped his thumb over the slit to smear the moisture along his length. He sighed, lips trembling with restraint. “Whenever I touch myself, I think of you.”

Sanzo tore his gaze away. “Shut up. Like I want to hear about your perverted fantasies.” But the thought that Goku had been thinking of him, always thinking of him, even when they had been so far apart, made his chest feel tight.

Goku laughed a little, and the sound merged into another soft moan as he continued to openly pleasure himself. “Keep lookin’ at me. I like it when you watch.”

Another low, drawn out moan drew Sanzo’s attention back to the explicit show. As he watched Goku please himself, it struck him that Goku was in this current state because of _him_. In a way, that impressive hard-on belonged to him and he knew Goku was more than ready to let him have it right where it counts. Blood rushed to his groin, his chest swelled with hot pride, and his fingers twitched with the sudden urge to touch.

“You can touch… if you want to,” Goku said, as if reading his mind, a note of mild shyness again creeping into his voice.

Sanzo pressed his lips together and jerked his head in denial. But as he watched another drop of fluid well up at Goku's slit, he wet his lip with longing and swallowed heavily, mesmerized by the sight.

“I know what you want,” Goku said, watching him intently. "You wanna taste."

Sanzo shook his head again, but Goku saw right through the façade. “Yeah, you do. Just look at you. You’re totally turned on.” Goku swiped over his weeping cockhead again, switched his grip and then extending his hand. “Go ahead. Lick it off.”

Sanzo eyed the offer, curiosity building into desperate need as his mouth began to water. He reached out and took hold of Goku’s wrist, accepting the invitation as he drew Goku’s hand to his lips. He flicked his tongue over the wet pad of Goku’s thumb, and then drew the entire length of the digit into his mouth. As Goku’s slightly salty, bitter taste spread over his tongue, his eyes drifted shut in quiet concentration as he sucked it clean. Too soon, Goku slowly extracted his thumb, and, seeking more, Sanzo allowed him to push his first two fingers inside his waiting mouth instead.

“Get ‘em nice and wet,” Goku urged, and Sanzo obliged, wrapping his tongue and lips around them until his mouth was nearly overflowing with saliva.

“That’s good,” muttered Goku, his voice strained as he withdrew his now coated fingers. And then he was moving, changing position as he pushed Sanzo’s legs further apart and reached between them with inquisitive fingers.

Sanzo lifted his head, trying to watch what Goku was doing as his thighs trembled in anticipation.

Goku flashed a small, reassuring smile before leaning in for a quick kiss. At the touch of his lips, Sanzo dropped his head back down, ready for another oral onslaught that never came. Their eyes met, and for a long moment neither looked away. There was something in Goku’s eyes that held him, something beyond the affection and the desire, something even deeper than the trust and devotion. He wondered if Goku saw the same, but somehow he already knew the answer.

“Sanzo,” Goku said, a note of warning creeping into his voice. "You know how I get when I'm super hungry? Well, right now I feel like I'm starving. And you're on the menu. I told you I'm not gonna hold back, so I’m gonna take my time gettin’ you ready for _this_ …” He bumped his swollen erection against Sanzo’s leg, leaving a damp trail across his pale skin. “…inside you.”

“Just get on with it, then,” Sanzo hissed with increasing impatience, and then held his breath as a wet fingertip clumsily brushed against his entrance and began to rub in a circular motion, teasing him externally before pushing inside. Sanzo squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth as his muscles tensed around the intrusion. He choked back a tiny whimper and Goku swooped in and kissed him again, lingering a little longer this time until eventually requesting access by flicking at Sanzo’s teeth with his tongue. Sanzo willingly opened his mouth, and Goku slipped his tongue inside. He stroked against the roof of Sanzo’s mouth, sought pleasure this time in a slow and thorough exploration. As he continued to distract Sanzo with the kiss, he stroked him inside with a deeply intimate caress.

Goku broke away and sighed into Sanzo's mouth. “How’s this? Does it feel better?” His words were little puffs of warm air. “You feel so good. Nice ‘n’ warm. Ready? I’m gonna keep going.”

The gentle coaxing soothed Sanzo as much as it made him crave for more. He stifled another whimper as Goku added a second finger and a sharp twinge of discomfort made him clench up tightly around it. Goku’s mouth descended on a nipple, lashing it wickedly with his tongue, and Sanzo winced at an overzealous, impatient attempt to shove a third finger up alongside the others.

"Shit, Goku--"

"Sorry! I just need to-- you gotta relax." Goku eased up, slowly extracting his fingers as he pushed at Sanzo's leg with his knee. "Open up a bit. Yeah." He hummed appreciatively as he pushed his fingers back inside. “God, Sanzo. So frickin’ tight. Can’t wait to finally get inside you.”

Part of him wanted to tell Goku off for being so cheeky as to presume that he’d just lie back and do Goku’s bidding. He should slap Goku upside the head for using language likely picked up from some cheap porno. But his head felt hazy, his thinking clouded, his body on fire. So much easier just to lie back and _feel_. But then the fingers inside him brushed up against something inside, and the next thing he knew his back was arching, hips surging up into the touch. Goku found Sanzo’s mouth again, swallowing his restrained moan and feeding him one of his own as he banged him with his fingers. With a quivering whimper, he suddenly pulled his hand away, leaving Sanzo unfulfilled and wanting for more.

Although perfectly on display in the centre of the small chamber’s soft lighting, Goku was too far gone to bother putting on any kind of a show as he hastily grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and quickly pulled it over his head, tossing it aside to reveal toned muscles and dusky nipples. He tugged his pants further down past his ass to mid-thigh, his hard cock straining for release. He spit generously into his palm and slicked his entire length, smearing on additional moisture from his weeping slit. Gripping the backs of Sanzo’s legs above the knees, he pushed them up and apart, raising Sanzo’s hips and ass to meet his advance.

“Ready?” Goku asked, his voice trembling and drenched with barely restrained need.

Sanzo nodded. “Do it.” He gripped the chair’s edges until his fingers shook, clenched his jaw as Goku flexed his hips and pushed, bumping the head of his cock against the tight little opening as he slowly, steadily, began to ease his way inside.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sanzo breathed, tipping back his head, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he bore the full brunt of the intrusion.

Goku strained forward, his concentration evident in his pinched lips, the furrow on his brow, the grip of his fingers digging into Sanzo’s skin.

“S-sanzo, still so tight…”

Breached inch by inch, Sanzo felt himself opening up, accepting Goku deeper and further, in body and in heart. He heard a low moan, and realized it was his own. He silenced it by biting his lip until his teeth broke the skin and a tiny red droplet threatened to spill down his chin. Goku leaned in and licked away the blood, soothing the small wound with his tongue. They both moaned again in unison as Goku finally slid all the way inside.

The feeling was like nothing else, the sensation of being stretched to the limit, of Goku opening him open and filling him to the hilt.

Goku panted as he paused, tucking his head down so that his breath tickled against Sanzo's ear. “Sanzo, I’m inside you… all the way in. So hot. Feels amazing… squeezing around me.” His words faded out into a pinched moan. 

Sanzo's skin flushed as Goku praised his tight virgin heat. His thighs shook as he waited with feverish expectation for Goku’s next move. And move he did. What Goku lacked in experience, he made up for with raw enthusiasm, healthy vigour, and stamina. His thrusts started out slow and tentative, like a deep internal massage encouraging Sanzo to open up to better accommodate his girth, but gradually built up into a hard, fast, and demanding rhythm. Goku made no effort to contain a nearly constant stream of incoherent grunts and groans of pleasure spiced with exclamations of encouragement and enjoyment. The sound of his own name drenched in Goku’s unmistakable want filled Sanzo with a potent rush of gratification.

Goku adjusted his angle, hitting that spot inside again, and Sanzo let out a short, sharp cry.

“Oh, yeah,” Goku groaned, and he proceeded to nail Sanzo again and again, pounding relentlessly until Sanzo’s body was rocking hard against the chair.

Sanzo shifted his hips and hooked a leg around Goku's waist, trying to pull him closer, deeper, silently urging him on. This was it. This was what he needed. With Goku, he could forget everything else. He could let go completely and trust in Goku to catch his fall. In this moment, in the very heart of the Maten, he could pull Goku into himself in a way that the ship could never hope to reach. Hovering on the precipice of blank, fuzzy obliteration of conscious thought, Sanzo scrunched his face as the sudden, sharp pain of dry friction punctuated the intense bursts of pleasure.

Goku’s rhythm changed, becoming more urgent as he yelled out, his voice rising in volume as he made a sudden, frenzied announcement. “Sanzo, I’m coming!” Goku’s thrusts became faster, more erratic, then one more deep, lingering push and he stilled, every muscle tight as he strained to reach as deep as he could. “Gonna come, Sanzo! Gonnuhhh!”

Sanzo braced himself to accept whatever Goku had to give, even as he reached his own new and dizzying heights. The sudden sensation of liquid heat pulsing inside pushed him over the edge and he came with a strangled cry, clenching down on Goku’s cock as if to squeeze out every last drop of his hot seed. His back arched as he released, splashing both of their bodies as his almost painfully hard erection jerked and spasmed between their sweat-slick bodies. Every muscle tense and trembling, his mouth stretched wide open as his face contorted with the mind-numbing force of his pleasure. As the white-hot flame faded into a warm afterglow, his body seemed to melt against the chair as he went limp, more relaxed than he had ever felt in his entire life. A muscle in his cheek twitched spontaneously in a rapid flutter, and his chest heaved as he regained his breath.

Goku lay slumped on top of him, the weight of his body surprisingly not unpleasant as their combined heat, sweat, and come blended into a hot mess. Goku eventually moved away and a brief, shooting pain made Sanzo wince as Goku reluctantly slid all the way out. A moment later, a warm, wet sensation made Sanzo’s ass contract as Goku’s leavings began to leak. As the various fluids cooled on his skin, he became uncomfortably aware of Goku’s silence. He opened his eyes to check and saw that Goku was kneeling on the reclining chair between his spread legs, staring at his now dripping hole. Despite what they had just done, the indignity at being subjected to such intensely personal scrutiny prompted Sanzo to frown as he attempted to narrow the gap between his legs, but Goku’s strong hands gripped his knees, keeping him wide open and exposed. Sanzo tried to sit up. “What are you--”

Goku’s eyes met his, desperately imploring. “I--I think I’ve got a little problem. I’m sorry, but it’s not--”

“What?” Confused, Sanzo’s chest clenched as his defenses sprung up against a stab of misgiving. A twinge of nausea twisted in his gut. Goku could go to hell if he was going to reject what they had just done after leading Sanzo to believe that it was a mutually satisfactory arrangement. But then he saw it. Goku was _hard_ again. Damn Youkaian physical prowess.

Goku grinned. “Or maybe it’s not all that little.”

_Damn cheeky monkey._

“Okay.” Goku licked his lips. “Let’s do it again.”

“Wait… what? Goku… you’re not--I can’t--”

Sanzo yelped as Goku inelegantly flipped him over onto his front with strong, insistent hands. He squirmed as his body was arranged to Goku’s liking. His hips raised, his ass in the air, his legs pushed apart. But his limbs still felt like mush and he lacked the energy or the will to protest. Any show of resistance would be nothing but a farce anyway. The momentary sick feeling in his gut had already been replaced with an intense, almost painfully tight spike of arousal that had him panting against the plush cushion of the chair. _Yes_. He wanted to feel Goku push him over the limit. He wanted to feel what it was like to be fucked into oblivion. He wanted to take that hot cock up the ass again and again until he was totally and absolutely wrecked.

“Yeah, you can,” Goku coaxed, his voice tight with urgent need. “Just relax and let me do it. Can I?” A finger slid inside Sanzo’s achingly empty hole. “Wow. You’re still open and wet, so I bet it’ll go right in.”

Goku had probably heard that in one of his pornos, too, but Sanzo was beyond caring. He bit back a moan. Goku’s dirty words of encouragement made him feel so fucking good, like he could do anything just to hear it again. He lewdly thrust up his ass, silently inviting Goku to continue.

“Yeah, that’s hot. You want it just as much as I do, don’t you?” He slapped Sanzo lightly on the bottom and then stroked his palm over one smooth cheek. “Don’t you?” Sanzo managed a slight, impatient nod, and then Goku mounted him from behind, gripped him firmly by the ass and spread him wide open as he entered him a second time. Sanzo groaned as he was fully impaled, pressing his cheek against the chair as Goku shifted his hands to his hips and began to fuck him again, slow and deep and then building up into a frenzied pace, the dull burn of internal friction only adding to the thrill. Sanzo panted, open-mouthed, practically drooling he was so drunk on the feeling of being so thoroughly screwed. Fine blond hair stuck to the back of his neck, damp with sweat. His fingers trembled and ached from clutching so tightly at the chair. Desperate, needy little sounds escaped him with every forceful thrust inward, every achingly sweet backward drag as Goku relentlessly pounded into him. Begging without words, he revelled in debauchery as Goku released again in a hot, hard burst, leaving his mark so deep inside.

Goku’s sweat-slick hand shifted to wrap around Sanzo’s length, jerking him in short, rapid strokes. “Sanzo, lemme feel you come.”

Coaxed and manipulated, high on the feeling of Goku inside him and all around him, his scent in the air, his heat and weight at his back, Sanzo finally succumbed to a stuttering, nearly parched orgasm that left him utterly drained and completely spent.

Goku slumped against his back and Sanzo gratefully collapsed beneath his weight. Lost in a heady bliss, a heavy contentment weighted his limbs even as his head felt light and airy. As if simultaneously floating and sinking, he drifted on the edge of sleep. Goku made no move to disengage and busied himself by nuzzling and licking at the salty skin on the back of Sanzo’s neck. Dazed and sated, Sanzo found the soft strokes of his tongue more soothing than erotic. A groan vibrated deep in his throat like a purr as he felt Goku's cock nudge inside his used body as it began to swell yet again. He lay prone, receptive but too exhausted to respond as he allowed Goku to take him from behind again.

This third round took a languid, leisurely pace. Goku slid within him more easily now that Sanzo had been slicked and so deliciously stretched. Goku was quieter now, too, grunting softly as he rocked his hips, taking his time to build up to a short, sharp, explosive climax. Sanzo felt a thrill of satisfaction as Goku ejaculated again, flooding his willing body, but he was too tapped out to get a rise out of it.

Goku sighed in deep relief as he plastered himself against Sanzo’s back in a pile of loosely clinging limbs. “ _Wow_.”

As pins and needles began to prickle in Sanzo’s arms, he grunted to signal his discomfort. He knew he was probably going to be extremely sore once he came to his senses, but he decided he could worry about that later. At the moment, he had no regrets.

“So,” Goku said once he had recovered his breath. He laid his flushed cheek against Sanzo’s skin. “from now on no more drugs, ‘kay? ‘Cause now you’re addicted to _me_ , and I can make you feel ten million times better than that crap ever could.”

“Oh?” Lost in drowsy contentment, Sanzo could manage only a torpid murmur. “So, you’ll be the monkey on my back?”

Goku nipped playfully at his shoulder. “In more ways that one.”

Sanzo decided he could live with that. He tried to kill the small smile that threatened to curl his lip, but the dry ghost of a laugh that escaped with his breath gave him away. He could live with that, too.

***


End file.
